God Blessed Them, Every One
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: Sequel to "Operation Christmas Carol". Gene Hunt has a year in which to confound Martin Summers's terrible predictions of what will happen next Christmas. How will he fare?
1. Christmas Vows and Birthday Presents

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but since yesterday's costume sale I do own a few of the clothes! **

**Funny how these things turn out - I started this story as a oneshot, using material I'd had to delete from the final chapter of "Operation Christmas Carol", and it's grown from there to become one of my longer stories. For the second time running, I'm breaking my own rule by starting to post before I've written the whole of the story, but it's the only way to get any sizeable proportion posted before S3 begins (whenever that is - cue for gnashing of teeth). At present I have several chapters in hand and aim to post one per week where possible. **

**As the title indicates, this is a sequel to "Operation Christmas Carol." I've tried to explain all references, but if anyone who hasn't read OCC is puzzled, ask me for clarification.**

**As always, I'd love to hear what you think! All reviews and feedback gratefully received.**

Gene awakened on Boxing Day feeling happier than he had been in more than a year. He wasn't hungover, having only accounted for half a bottle of single malt and half a bottle of red wine the previous evening, but that alone could not account for the unaccustomed lightness he felt within himself. Having been on duty on Christmas Day, he had today on leave, and could afford to stay in bed a little longer. Relishing the chance to relax, he lay there, telling over the events of the past thirty-six hours in his mind. Or had it been longer than that? He was not entirely sure.

He still could not quite understand what had happened to him. On Christmas Eve at midnight, he had been visited by Mac, followed by the three spirits who had taken him on a wild journey through his past, his present, and his future.

_Oh, God_.

His future.

The final spirit had been that bastard Martin Summers, who had shown him what would happen _next_ Christmas if he did not change his ways. He had awakened to find himself in his office, sent back with a chance to put everything right. And he had taken it. He had made good on his vow to Summers that he would be reconciled with Alex, forgive Chris, give Chris the day off to spend Christmas with his family, trust the team, and make sure everyone he knew had a merry Christmas. Well, nearly everyone. Bernie North was still languishing in the Fenchurch cells with a Santa costume and a black eye, but somehow Gene didn't think that that would count against him. He was, for the moment, deeply happy and at peace with his fellow men and women.

Had it all been a dream? If it wasn't, how come he had visited Chris's flat for the first time yesterday, and found it looking just as it had when Nelson had brought him there? And even if it was a dream, could he afford to ignore Summers' terrible predictions of what would happen in the coming year? Was what he had done yesterday, enough to change the future Summers had shown him?

The nighmare images flashed before him again with uncomfortable vividness. He had seen his house dark, empty, up for sale. _I may never have liked the place much, but I'm staying here. That may make a difference. Break the pattern, like the things I did yesterday._

Summers had shown him his own grave. The headstone had said that he would be murdered on the seventeenth of October. Well, forewarned would be forearmed. At least, now his faith in his team had been restored, he would be able to rely on them to watch his back. _Summers said it was a member of Carnegie's team. Maybe I won't be able to stop him trying to put a bullet in me, but I'll bloody well stop him succeeding._

_Christ, I'm thinking about stopping something that hasn't happened yet. Just like Bolly. I saw her visited by a spirit too. Maybe that's how she knows about the future. Or thinks she does. _

Nelson had shown him Alex, visited by the ghostly figure of a little girl whom she had addressed as Molly. At that moment, Gene had guessed that Alex's daughter must be dead, and that all Alex's rubbish about coming from the future was her way of trying to deal with it. He had realised then that, in rejecting her, he had failed her when she needed him most. He had thought that he had lost her for ever. But Summers had shown him that next Christmas, Alex would be brokenhearted over his death, admitting, too late, that she had loved him. _God forbid that I should ever fail her again. Maybe she doesn't love me yet, maybe she never will, unless I get myself killed. But yesterday we were able to talk to each other again. She accepted my Christmas present, and she gave me hers. Something I'll treasure for ever. _He squinted a glance at the small bronze lion on his bedside table. _It's a start. I'll work on it. _

Summers had shown him Chris and Shaz, distraught over the death of their daughter Tammy. _Cot death, Summers said. In September. How the hell do I go about stopping a cot death? Bolly might know. She's a mother. Or she was._

Lying there in bed, he made a series of solemn vows to himself. By next Christmas, he would confound every one of Summers' predictions. He would fill his dark house with light and warmth. He would find a way to save himself, and to save Tammy. He would continue to rebuild his relationship with Alex, try to find some way of letting her know what he felt for her, and maybe, just maybe, get her to return it. His heart beat wildly at the thought.

It was a tall order. But he had a whole year.

-oO0Oo-

He spent the next few weeks quietly consolidating the gains he had made over Christmas. Some improvements were not possible to maintain in the long term. He had a secret dread that if he smiled _all _the time, it would get around the criminal population of London that Hunt was going soft. All the same, he found more things to make him smile, now. He spent a long time with Chris, going through his application form for promotion to Detective Sergeant and giving him useful advice, and he rang Shaz regularly to inquire after Tammy. Most importantly, he continued to strengthen his relationship with Alex. By day they worked and sparred together, and in the evenings they sat together at their old corner table in Luigi's, drinking and setting the world to rights. They had discovered two years since that they shared the same birthday, 10th February, and this year he made a point of engaging her company for the big day well in advance, by promising her dinner at the very poshest restaurant he could find which served Dover sole.

He had absolutely no idea what to get her for her birthday. As he had only just given her the charm bracelet at Christmas, he felt that he should not repeat himself by buying her jewellery again so soon. If he bought her anything to wear, it would probably be too tarty. He hesitated to give her flowers, knowing that Summers had scared her by leaving her roses. Although he had known her for two and a half years, he still had very little idea of her taste in books, films or music. He was stumped.

He had one lucky break when he spotted her reading a review in the _Guardian_ of a book about Baudelaire, which she had marked with a cross. He quietly sent Josie, the WPC filling in for Shaz, to get a copy of the paper, and the following day he marched into Foyles, threw the paper on the counter, and demanded a copy of "that book" from the overawed assistant. He didn't want to admit that he had no idea how to pronounce it. It was a start, but it wasn't enough.

With only five days to go and no ideas in sight, he sat in Luigi's after she had left for the evening, gloomily wondering how to ask her to tell him what she wanted him to give her, when he noticed that she had left her scarf over the back of her chair. He picked it up, nipped up the stairs, and knocked at her door. A blast of cold air seemed to wrap itself around him as Alex opened the door, shivering despite her long jumper, leggings and thick socks.

She saw the scarf in his hand. "Oh, thank you, Gene. I hadn't realised that I'd left it downstairs."

"Bloody 'ell, Bols, what is this place - Spitzbergen?"

Alex smiled wanly. "The boiler's broken down. No heating and no hot water unless I boil it in a kettle. Don't blame Luigi," she added quickly, seeing that Gene was about to storm downstairs to berate her long-suffering landlord. "He called a repair man in right away, but the boiler needs a new part and it'll take at least a week to arrive. Sorry, I'd better not invite you in, or you'll freeze."

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer her the spare bedroom in his house until the boiler was fixed. A vision swam before his eyes of her sleeping peacefully amid the crisp white sheets, beneath the snug duvet, lulled and soothed by the warmth, and of him leaving tea outside her door and making breakfast for her - a _proper_ breakfast, not the rabbit food she usually ate. But he checked himself. A few weeks ago, they had still been at war.

_Must take it slowly. She might think I'm trying to get into her knickers. I could lose everything I've gained so far._ He instantly thought up a Plan B.

"Phone," he barked. Alex, surprised, stood aside, and he swept into her living room, picked up the receiver, and dialled a number.

"Viv. Those portable electric heaters we had two winters ago, when the heating broke down. Are they still in the store room?"

"Just a moment, Sir, I'll check." There was a short silence, punctuated by the rustling of ledger pages while Gene tapped his fingers impatiently, before Viv returned to the phone. "We've still got all three of them, but only two work. The third broke down and was never repaired. Cost-cutting measure."

"Get out the two that work an' bring them over to Drake's flat. It's turned into a suburb of Siberia. Get plod to help you." He hung up triumphantly and turned to face Alex. "Sorted."

"Oh, but Gene, you can't. They're the property of the Met."

"So are you."

"Oh, no, I'm not. You never did get to stamp my bum, remember?"

Gene wisely decided to abandon that line of argument. "Can't 'ave my DI goin' down with pneumonia, can I? My station, I say who uses the facilities. Haven't used 'em in two years, you can check for us that they're still working."

Alex, still shivering, gave in and went to put the kettle on. A couple of minutes later, a knock at the door heralded Viv and a young PC with the two heaters. Under Gene's bawled directions, they heaved them into the flat, set up one in the living room and the other in the bedroom, and switched them on. While the warmth came through and the flat was filled with the smell of burning dust, Alex rewarded her rescuers with hot coffee all round, but Viv and the PC, warned by Gene's glares, soon departed.

"Not much," Gene admitted when he and Alex were left alone together, "but they should take the temperature in 'ere above freezing 'til the boiler's fixed."

"Thank you, Gene." Her smile was his reward. "It'll be a big help. I do appreciate it."

"No problem. Thanks for the coffee. 'Night, Bols." He took one final swig, set his mug down, and left with a jaunty air. He had had an idea.

-oO0Oo-

He had had no idea of where to take her for their birthday meal, and shortly after Christmas he had turned to Luigi for advice. The kindly Italian had shown what Gene considered to be great magnanimity given that his two best customers would be deserting him for the night.

"You want somewhere elegant, polite, discreet, no?"

"Yeah, that's right, Somewhere the rest of this rabble wouldn't go. _Not_ another Italian restaurant, for God's sake. Want to give 'er a change."

"Besides, the Italian cuisine in other restaurants cannot rival mine." Luigi's eyes twinkled.

"Yeah, no steak an' chips pizza."

"If you can get a table, why not try the Ivy? Simple, honest food, beautifully cooked. _Squisito_. But not cheap."

Gene swallowed hard. "Worth it just the once. Ta, Luigi, I'll give it a go."

"To impress the lady?"

"Something like that."

Getting a table at the Ivy was a harder job than he had anticipated, but the production of his warrant card, coupled with the fact that he knew one of the senior waiters of old, managed to secure him the coveted reservation. While he was at it, he had a quiet word with the _maître d'_ about a special request for the evening.

He had never heard of the place, but he had the impression that it was classy, so he made a point of not telling Alex in advance where he was taking her. Knowing him, she realised that it could either be somewhere very good, or somewhere absolutely terrible.

He collected her from the now barely warm flat after work, and found her wearing a red ensemble so alluring that he wondered if he would be able to remember how to drive the Quattro.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols, you've got out your gladdest rags out I see." He was glad that he had stopped to change into his best suit and tie before leaving work.

"Thanks." She twirled her wrist to show off her charm bracelet. "So have you. So, now will you tell me where we're going tonight?"

"Nope. You'll 'ave to interview me once we're in the car, an' see if you can get it out of me wi' psycho-bollocks."

But all her efforts to catch him out with word association failed, until he had reluctantly deposited the Quattro in the St Martin's Lane NCP and walked her around the corner to West Street. She stood in front of the entrance, gazing at it like a child invited to Disneyland.

"Here? You're bringing me _here_? Oh, Gene, what a wonderful birthday present!"

"Steady on, this is only the grub." He was trying to conceal how gobsmacked he was by her reaction. "You'll get your present afterwards."

He had known that he would feel out of place in such a smart establishment. Crisp linen tablecloths which would stand up by themselves. Gleaming silver cutlery. Sweet trollies whose wheels had a distinctly snobbish rumble. Celebrities at their ease, off duty, dining quietly without the need to put on a show for their audience or for one another. He felt all the more awkward because Alex was so obviously at home in this posh environment. He feared that, taking her there had only served to remind her how different they were. But the food, simple but perfectly prepared, and the excellent wine, both restored his spirits, even though he was sure that he could hear his wallet whimpering.

He had not realised what a difference it would make, to be alone with her for a whole evening, away from their usual haunts. Without the need to put on their own show for their colleagues, they could talk openly, freely, letting the barriers down. She encouraged him to reminisce about Manchester and Sam. At first he tried to avoid the subject, and she guessed that he shied away from the pain of reopening old wounds. She craftily turned the conversation to Jackie Queen, with whom she corresponded regularly, and soon Gene was holding forth on the _Gazette_ siege, being cuffed to a radiator with Sam, the loss of his faithful hip flask, and his ongoing war with Litton. He was even able to laugh at his memories, and that warmed her heart.

The waiter cleared their plates and politely offered the dessert menu. Alex held out her hand for it, but Gene waved it away.

"Won't be needing that. Got a special arrangement." He signalled ostentatiously to someone behind Alex, and one of the snobbish trollies rumbled in their direction, accompanied by several voices singing "Happy Birthday To You". Alex, saucer-eyed, swivelled in her seat to see a large birthday cake with pink and white icing, blazing with candles, being pushed towards them. Behind her, Gene was singing as well.

As the cake reached them, the whole restaurant stood and applauded. She turned to him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"But it's your birthday, too."

He grinned. "Your surprise. But I'll 'elp you eat it, if you insist. Fruitcake, of course. We can blow the candles out together."

_We'll blow the candles out together. _Suddenly it was she who was overwhelmed by memories almost too painful to be borne, but she tamped them down. Gene had gone to all this trouble for her, and she could not spoil it for him. "Yes. Let's."

He rose and stood beside her. "Remember to make a wish, Bols." They closed their eyes, took a deep breath, and blew. Between them they managed to extinguish all the candles, and the applause redoubled. He opened his eyes and looked at her. He knew what he had wished for, even though he feared he would never have it. He wondered what her wish had been. She was smiling, but he caught the pain behind her apparent gaiety. Something had upset her, and he could not think what.

_Of course, you stupid bastard. The ghost of her daughter carries a birthday cake. I've gone and reminded her of that. I couldn't have done anything to upset her more, and I can't even apologise. I can't possibly tell her what I know, or how I know it. _

The _maître d'_ proffered a cake knife. "Would the lady care to cut the cake?"

Alex took it. "Yes, please. Let's cut it together." She laid it on the surface of the cake, and Gene laid his hand over hers. The sensation was so exquisite that he could only just exert enough pressure to let the knife pierce the icing. Their eyes met, and he trembled at the loss, longing and need that he saw in her eyes, which he knew was mirrored in his.

Alex pressed the knife down to make a proper incision, and turned to the _maître d'_. "We can't possibly eat all this between us. I'll cut off a large slice for each of us and a slab to take home for our colleagues. Please bring lots of plates and share out the rest among everyone in the restaurant."

He was terrified that he had ruined everything, but as they guzzled cake and drank Bollinger, she seemed to recover her spirits. By the time they left, she appeared to be back to normal, but he could not be sure how much was real and how much an act.

They were both silent while he drove her home. The Quattro pulled up outside Luigi's, and he turned to her.

"Thanks for the evening, Bols. It was good." He felt awkward again.

"Thank you too," she said warmly. "For everything. For dinner, and the cake, and your company. I've enjoyed it all so much."

"Well, it's not quite over yet. I got Luigi to leave your presents in your flat. Too big to take to the restaurant."

"Yours are up there, too. Won't you come up for them, and have a nightcap?"

"Ta." They got out of the car, and he locked it while Alex unlocked the street door. They went up the stairs together. He didn't know why he felt so nervous. They had often had a drink together in her flat since their reconciliation, but he sensed that this was different. Could be different.

The anticipated blast of cold air hit them when she unlocked her front door, but the temperature improved once they had switched on the lights and the heaters. A bottle of Bollinger, two glasses, a large boxed fruit _panettone _and two birthday cards in Luigi's writing had been left on the coffee table, and Alex was intrigued by the huge, squashy parcel on the sofa. Gene opened the champagne and poured it out, and handed a glass to Alex.

"Happy birthday, Bols."

"Happy birthday, Gene."

They clinked glasses and drank. Alex reached under the coffee table and drew out three parcels.

"Happy birthday, Gene. Open the largest one last."

The first and smallest parcel proved to be an Old Spice gift set, and the second, a plain navy blue tie, pure silk and undoubtedly expensive.

"A bit restrained for your usual tastes, I know," said Alex, laughing, "but I thought it might do for when you have to impress the top brass."

"Sodding Supers aren't getting this. I'll save it for special occasions an' dazzle everyone with a flash of me silk. Thanks, Bolly, it's great."

The third present was a large book, which left him almost speechless.

"Brian Garfield's _Western Films, A Complete Guide_? Bloody 'ell, I didn't even know this existed! Where in the name of John Wayne did you find this?"

"A specialist shop which I happen to know, ordered it for me from America. It's very new, only published last year. I 've been dreading that it wouldn't arrive in time. It only came in on Monday." She forebore to add that she had only know of its existence because a boyfriend whom she had dumped in 2006 had owned a copy.

He was already leafing excitedly through the pages, but looked up and fixed her with his best glare. "_What_ specialist shop? Where?"

"Ah-ha, I'm not telling you. If you find it you'll buy up half the shop on sight, and I'm relying on it to provide me with a few more presents for you yet."

He pouted. "Unfair on DCIs."

"Have some more champagne and stop sulking."

"First, 'ave some presents yourself." He reached under the large parcel and extracted a smaller one. "Happy birthday, Bolly."

It was the Baudelaire book. Alex was flabbergasted. "How on earth did you know I wanted this?"

He winked. "You're not the only detective in this flat. Saw you reading about this book in your paper, got the details an' went to Foyles for it." He picked up the big, squashy parcel and dumped it in her arms. She put it on the sofa to open it. It contained a floor-length crimson dressing gown in soft Pyrenean wool, a chunky hand knitted alpaca and silk cardigan, and a huge, soft, white woollen shawl.

"Hope you like 'em." Gene took the shawl, folded it into a triangle, and draped it carefully around her shoulders. "Thought they might do 'til Luigi gets the boiler fixed. Shawl's big enough to double as an extra blanket if you need it. They were the warmest in the shop."

She slowly looked up at him, and to his horror and embarrassment her eyes were glittering with tears again.

"They're lovely, Gene. Thank you so much. So kind, so thoughtful, so generous. I can't say what this means to me."

"What, a few bits of wool?" he said roughly.

"Not just the presents. The dinner. The cake. Everything."

"Y'welcome," he muttered.

Half of him was desperate to go, dreading that he might be in over his head if he stayed any longer. The other half could not move, transfixed by the intensity of her gaze and the unspoken things he saw there.

"I'd felt so alone, for so long." Her voice was a silver thread of sound. "I thought I'd lost you. But since Christmas - "

"You had," he admitted. "But not now. Never again."

She shook her head, and the beauty of her eyes was marred by sudden fear. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't know. It's been so long since I had any messages from home. Maybe this is my only life now. If I do get the chance to go home, then for my daughter's sake I'll have to take it, even though the choice should break my heart." She would never understand the deep compassion which flashed into his eyes at that moment. "All I know is, that while I'm here, I can't go on alone any more." Her hands stole up to cup his face. He could scarcely breathe. "I need you, Gene. I always did. I always will. Wherever I am."

_Don't you think she needs someone?_ Nelson had said that, on Christmas Eve.

_Where I'm needed._

"Alex." It was so hard for him to speak. "You 'ave to be very sure about this."

He had called her _Alex_. He only did that when he was utterly serious. The last time had been when they quarrelled in his office, the night before Operation Rose. The memory hung between them like a shadow for a moment, and was gone.

"Oh, I am. I am. If you are."

"Yeah."

Her hands reached around the back of his head and tangled in his hair as she drew him closer. His breath fanned her face for a moment before his lips touched hers, lightly, gently. It was so little, and yet so much. He drew back to look deep into her eyes. They were like dark pools, full of longing. She looked so lost and alone, so vulnerable. He bent his head and kissed her again, and this time the kiss seemed to last forever. They clung together in the dimly lit room, as though they had to drink from one another to live. They broke apart at last. Her hands stole over his shoulders and down his arms, and she took his hands in hers. The shawl dropped unnoticed to the ground. She stepped backwards, drawing him with her, her eyes never leaving his as she led him to the bedroom.

They stood facing each other, and for a moment neither moved. She reached up and gently loosened his tie. He felt the slight tremor in her hands. Growing bolder, she slid her hands along his shoulders and pushed his jacket off, then unbuttoned his shirt. They both started to shiver as the freezing cold hit them, and, laughing gently, they shed the rest of their clothes in record time before she pulled him beneath the warm duvet.

-oO0Oo-

She had not expected kindness.

That was her first thought when she awakened in the early hours of the morning, clasped close in his arms, feeling his damp skin against hers, listening to his steady heartbeat and his rhythmic snores.

She had always thought that if they did ever end up in bed, the act would be fuelled by alcohol and, as likely as not, by anger. She had thought that he would be a taker, greedy only for his own satisfaction, only to find that he was a giver. She had never felt so cherished. After two and a half years, at last she felt safe. He had shared himself with her, breaking down every barrier she had built up around herself ever since her parents' death, since Pete had deserted her, since she had wandered into this time, alone and terrified. He had reached through to the very core of her being. They had just experienced passion beyond her wildest dreams, yet it had been blended with an almost unbearable tenderness. He had held her as though she were made of glass, too fragile and precious for him to touch. At the last, she had reached up and caressed his rough cheek, whispering his name, astonished that he could draw such deep emotions from her. Afterwards, cradling her against his chest, he had looked fearfully into her eyes and said, very low, "Please tell me I didn't hurt you, Alex."

"Of course you didn't," she had whispered, stroking his face and smoothing the damp hair from his brow. "You were so gentle. Gentle Gene Genie. My matchless Lion." He had nodded, relieved, clearly unable to say more. She sensed that for him, too, their union had unearthed emotions too intense for him to explore. He was a man who would shy away from such things, if he could. Neither of them had been prepared for the depth of feeling that they had awakened in one another. Lost and lonely, needing one another, in coming together at last they had both found what they lacked. They had been in denial for too long about what they felt for each other. Perhaps, if they had time, they would be able to come to terms with those feelings and explore them to the full. She treacherously hoped that they would have time, before she had to return home.

She had entered this world as an outsider, and still sought to leave it. She had never looked to find her own place here, yet it had unerringly found her. Her place in this world was the space within the circle of Gene Hunt's strong arms, upon his warm, passionate, loving heart. And she was well content to be there.

-oO0Oo-

Gene awakened just as the dawn's first feeble rays began to struggle through the slats of the window blind. He had dreamt about waking up here so often that at first he was convinced that this was just one more hopeless dream. Only when he felt the woman in his arms stirring restlessly in her sleep, then stilling as he gently caressed her hair, could he persuade himself that this was reality. Alex had taken him to her bed and given herself to him, and he had given himself in return. She had been everything that he had ever imagined and more, far more. She was perfection in an imperfect world. He could not imagine how he could ever keep her, yet the thought of living without her now was unbearable.

He had slept with many women, and flattered himself that none of them had had any complaints, but what he had just experienced with Alex was different from anything he had ever known. In joining himself to her, he had used his body to express everything he felt for her. All the things he could not say. "Making love", to him, had only ever been a hackneyed phrase to describe a physical act, but their union had truly created a love between them which he felt certain would last. Of course, it might not. She might kick him out, with or without breakfast, and never allude to their night together again. But if what they had just made together endured, as he prayed it would, then he vowed that he would never fail her again. He would be everything to her, as she was to him. As her superior officer, he would face every danger at her side and guard her with his life. As her lover, he would make his arms her shelter and his heart her resting place. And if ever she felt that she had to leave, on some futile quest for her lost daughter, then he would ask her to let him go with her, wherever she went.

_Maybe that's what Summers meant by me transferring._

He drifted off to sleep, and awakened again to full daylight. She was leaning on one elbow, looking down at him. She was so beautiful that he could hardly bear it. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her all his love, but he checked himself.

_Too early. I might scare her off. Give her time._

He tried not to look as terrified as he felt. In yielding to his love for her, he had just given her the power to destroy him.

"Morning, gorgeous." She slid one hand over his chest to caress his neck and shoulder.

_That sounds promising. _"You're not too bad yourself," he rumbled. She bent to kiss his chest.

"Careful, I'm ticklish."

She giggled. "I'm not." Her hair swept his chest as she looked up at him. "It's Saturday. I'm not on duty. Are you?"

"Nope."

"What shall we do, then?"

"Dunno. Gimme the menu."

"Well - " She touched him expertly, making him yelp with pleasure. "We could do more of what we've been doing."

"Sounds good."

"Or we could have breakfast."

"Eventually."

"_Very _eventually. Or we could have a shower. A long, sexy shower."

"Sounds good too - no, 'ang on, you told me you 'aven't any hot water 'til the boiler's fixed. D'you want to freeze my knackers off?"

"Certainly not." Another expert touch. "They do a very good job, right where they are." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, if you want to keep warm, it looks as though we'll have to stay here."

He grinned broadly. "Let's."

_Best birthday I've ever had._

_Right, Summers, you bastard, that's Number One on my list._

**TBC**


	2. Police Complaints

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. If I did, there would have been more than three series and they would have been more than eight episodes long.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who's read, faved, alerted and especially those who've reviewed Chapter 1. I really do appreciate it so much - you give me the strength to carry on! Please keep that lovely feedback coming in…**

Their relationship deepened as they learned more about themselves and each other during the days and nights that followed, even though both remained terminally wary of admitting what they felt for one another. They had both been hurt too much in the past, to be able to trust what they had now.

To the surprise of both, it was easier than they had feared it would be, to separate their professional partnership and their personal relationship. At work, they continued to spar, clash, quarrel and shout the place down, while silently recognising how each brought out the best and worst in the other. Together in her flat, they trod cautiously, keeping the conversation light, not risking anything deeper lest they betrayed themselves. They were still feeling their way. Alex felt increasingly aware of how their unspoken love was binding her more and more to this time, and feared that if she told him what she felt for him, it would make it harder for him to endure when she went home. But together in bed, they were two completely different people. Both tender, urgent, passionate, loving and intensely vulnerable, their lovemaking revealed more of their deeper selves than they dared to risk putting into words. It was the only time when they were not conscious of putting on an act for one another, as they did for the outside world. The bond between them went beyond the physical. They both silently recognised the deep emotional link which bound them together. At times it was almost impossible for Alex to believe that the fierce yet gentle lover whose arms enfolded her in the night, was the same as the coarse, foul-mouthed, violent copper with whom she clashed by day.

Gene discovered that she was an unquiet sleeper. Time and again he would awaken to find her asleep in his arms, thrashing wildly in the throes of a nightmare. When he could, he awakened her. Then he would hold her, murmuring soothingly as she wept and shivered, reassuring her again and again that she was safe. Sometimes, but only rarely, the dream would pass away before he could wake her. Worst of all were the times when she was too deeply asleep for him to reach her. Then she remained lost in her torment until her own sobs and cries dragged her back to consciousness.

He could not always tell what she was dreaming about. Sometimes she muttered about being shot by Layton, although why she should be afraid of that particular bastard, among all those he and she had put away, he could not imagine. Occasionally he heard confused babbling about a clown. Once he heard her say, in a tiny voice, "Daddy?". Then she started screaming as she had when the Price car blew up. She had said often that her parents were dead, and he wondered whether they had died in a car accident. It would explain her especial pity for her little namesake Alex Price. Most often, though, her dreams were about her lost daughter, imagining the child in some danger or just calling for her piteously, again and again. She would never tell him about her dreams, although he assured her that he was always ready to listen if it would help her to talk about it. She would cling to him, thanking him repeatedly for being there for her, while the tears rolled down her face and he held her, stroking her hair, rubbing circles on her back, whispering words of comfort.

She had always seemed so strong that it was a severe shock to him to discover how haunted she was, and what powerful demons pursued her. No wonder she had so often appeared to be mad. It seemed little short of a miracle that she was still sane. He was horrified to think that she had endured all this alone for so long. He was convinced that all her troubles sprang from her inability to accept her daughter's death. If only she could be brought to understand that, perhaps she would recover. But he knew that she would have to do that for herself, in her own good time. If he dared to say the unsayable, it would wreck their relationship and might destroy her. In the meantime, all he could do was to be there for her when she needed him. He pitied her vulnerability, yet did not realise how much his tender care of her revealed his own.

They had hoped to keep their relationship a secret from the team for a while, but it was not to be. If Shaz had not still been on maternity leave, they would probably have been rumbled sooner. But the fact that the Quattro now remained parked outside Luigi's every night was a whacking great clue which even Ray could not miss, and when Viv spotted Gene leaving by the street door to Alex's flat early one morning, the cat was out of the bag. Curiously, the feeling among CID was almost one of anticlimax. They had suspected something of the kind, off and on, ever since the night Gene and Alex had both left Luigi's so precipitately to bug Mac's office. When the team found, after all this time, that their suspicions were confirmed at last, there was a general mood of "I told you so", but nothing more. Of course, none of them dared to say anything to Gene's face.

Gene was heading for the kitchen, mug in hand. He had seen Alex go in there a couple of minutes earlier, and hoped that they might have the chance to compare notes on the CID gossip. A quick snog would not come amiss, either. But as he neared the door, he heard another voice, and froze.

"Alex."

_Bugger. Superpain Keats._

"Jim." Alex's voice sounded as guarded as Fort Knox.

"I, ah, this is embarrassing, and I hope you'll excuse me, but in all conscience I feel I should say it."

"What?" Gene could almost hear Alex raising her eyebrows.

You may not be aware that there are some extremely unsavoury rumours going around the office."

"Really?" If a thermometer had tested her voice, it would have shattered.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. About you and DCI Hunt."

"Ah."

"Yes. Ridiculous, I know. I just overheard Carling claim that Sergeant James saw Hunt leaving your flat this morning."

"I _see_."

"All most unfortunate. You'd do well to confront the perpetrators and quash all rumours as soon as possible. You know the old saying, "A lie is halfway around the world before the truth gets its boots on." Something like this could be very damaging to both your personal reputation and your career."

"Damaging?"

"Well, yes - to be associated with a man of Hunt's reputation - "

"Well, well." Alex sounded as though she were playing Keats like a fish on a line, and Gene could almost feel sorry for the bloke. "Well, full marks to Ray and Viv for observation."

"Pardon?"

"I'll have to tell Gene to be more careful next time. Not that it matters now."

"_Alex_." Keats's voice sounded as though he were pale with the shock. "You can't mean - "

"What?"

"It_ can't_ be true, surely?"

"Yes, it is." Her voice could have been an advert for Wilkinson's Sword. "It is. And I can't tell you how proud I am of it."

Standing in the corridor, Gene glowed like a searchlight. There was a short silence, and he had almost made his mind up to break up the conference by breezing into the kitchen and pretending that he had not heard anything, when Keats spoke again.

"Well, Alex, I can't deny that I'm very surprised. Disappointed, even."

"If you ever thought that I was encouraging you, then I'm sorry," Alex said quietly.

"No. Looking back on it, you weren't," Keats admitted. "But to be honest, I would never have thought that you'd become involved with someone like him. You're young, progressive, dynamic, brilliant. You have your whole career in front of you. You have the potential to change and develop the Met in so many ways."

"Thank you for the kind compliments. So?"

"Face the facts, Alex. Hunt's a dinosaur. A coarse, hard-drinking brute who gets his results with violence. His kind are on the way out, and a good thing too. If you shackle yourself to him, his reputation will rub off on you. He'll drag you down. A woman like you could do so much better."

"Better than Gene?" Gene could almost hear her left hook itching for contact with Keats's jaw.

"What could a beautiful, intelligent woman like you possibly see in a man like that?"

"Jim." Alex spoke quietly, gravely, sincerely. "I believe that you're a good man. That you do what you do, because you believe that it's right, not for personal gain. But until you stop filling forms, ticking boxes, judging everyone by political correctness alone, and mouthing platitudes about human rights, until you come out of your cosy office and risk your life for the safety of the law-abiding citizens of London on its streets, day in, day out, as Gene does, I will _never_ look upon you as a copper and as a man, as I do him. He's an utter bastard, but he's also the best, bravest, kindest, noblest, most honest, most loyal, most decent man I know, and the Met will be a poorer force when there are no more like him in its ranks. I cannot say how much I admire him."

"I see."

"It's true, his style of policing looks back to the past, just as mine looks to," she emphasised the words, "the _future_. But what I've learned since I came here, is that both have their virtues and their disadvantages. I've seen the future of policing, so I know that your kind will get the upper hand, eventually. The Met, like all other police forces, will become emasculated by the fear of causing offence. The rights of criminals will be considered as important as the rights of the victims and the innocent. Oh, yes, we'll make progress, Jim, but London won't always be a safer or better place because of it."

"I hope that nothing like that will ever happen on _my_ watch," Keats said stiffly.

"So do I. But it _will_ happen, eventually. While I'm here, in this time, Gene and I learn from each other and discover how to combine the best of both worlds. The past _and_ the future. I believe that that is the best of all. If ever I leave here, I hope that our work together will be my contribution to the policing of London in my own time. Who knows, perhaps something Gene and I do now will change the future, for the better. And so long as it doesn't affect our work, what we do when we're off duty is nobody's concern but our own."

"I see." Keats's voice was expressionless. "Thank you for being so honest with me, Alex. At least we both know where we stand now."

For once in his life, Gene had sufficient tact to conceal himself as Keats left the kitchen, wearing the same bemused expression that Gene knew that he wore himself, whenever Bolly started spouting about the future. _At least it isn't just me._ He nipped into the kitchen, swept her into his arms and bent her backwards in a passionate clinch. As he returned her to a vertical position, she gave him the full benefit of her most scandalised expression.

"Just how much did you hear?" she whispered.

"All of it." He kissed her swiftly. She looked away.

"I meant it, you know. I wasn't just trying to do him down."

"Thanks, sweetheart. Means a lot."

"Thank _you_." She squeezed his arm. "I just hope I haven't got us into trouble. If I've made him feel vindictive, he could seize upon anything to use against us. Including our relationship."

"No worries. Our results'll speak for 'emselves."

Nonetheless, Gene thought it prudent to go to the Super that afternoon and tell him, without alluding to the showdown with Keats, that he and Alex were "seeing each other."

"Rather more than seeing each other, to judge by what I've been hearing from the WPCs and the typing pool this morning." Mac's replacement, Superintendent Stan Castleford, known as SuperStan or Old Castle, was a copper who, like Mac, had worked his way up through the ranks, and he recognised the value of Gene's experience, even while deploring some of his excesses. "You've broken a few female hearts, Hunt. Never seen such consumption of Kleenex, even when it got about that Skelton was getting married. You did quite right to come and tell me. I believe that both you and Drake are responsible enough not to let a personal relationship interfere with your duties. It's been clear enough to me that the two of you have been attracted to each other for a long time, but that hasn't stopped you arguing so loudly whenever you have a difference of opinion, that I can hear you in my office. However, I must tell you that if either of you do let your relationship affect your work, I'll have to transfer one of you to another station in London."

"Understood, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Once everyone had got used to the sight of their DCI and DI disappearing upstairs to her flat every night, and walking into the station together every morning, life returned to an even keel. Chris was very excited to learn that he had passed the first sift for the promotion board to Detective Sergeant, and Alex spent every spare moment in coaching him for his forthcoming exam.

It was mid March when Keats walked into Gene's office, carrying a large stack of files, looking very serious.

"A word, Hunt, if you don't mind."

Gene heaved a sigh, laid aside the file he was working on, and gestured to the chair opposite his own. The chair where Mac had sat on Christmas Eve. _What have I done wrong now?_

Keats dumped the files on Gene's desk and sat down. "You may have already heard on the grapevine, that there's been more trouble at Fenchurch West."

"No, I 'adn't. Not someone else connected to Carnegie an' 'is merry men, after all this time?"

"No, it's DI Conroy. He's been suspended."

"But Conroy was the only senior officer at the station who was cleared of all involvement wi' Operation Rose."

"He was. But it's been discovered that both Carnegie and his successor, DCI Longton, had let Conroy go far too much his own way, and his handling of some important cases is now being questioned. Carnegie may actually have preferred to have an arrogant DI who was too lazy and stupid to suspect his own involvement in criminal activities, and since the clearout following Operation Rose, Longton has relied on him very heavily because he was the only experienced senior officer left at the station. Too heavily, as it turns out. There's just been a successful appeal against a conviction for robbery, where the defence have proved that Conroy manipulated the evidence to get a quick result. An innocent man has spent two years in jail, and Conroy's spoiling of the evidence means that the man we now suspect, can't be brought to trial. His defence lawyer would have the CPS for breakfast."

"I see."

"This sort of adverse publicity is the very last thing the Met needs now. The Assistant Commissioner has directed a review of a number of major cases with which Conroy has been involved. For obvious reasons none of it can be done at Fenchurch West. The work has been split up among the other Met CIDs, and, for our sins, this is our share." He slapped the pile of files on the desk. "I'm sorry, Hunt, I know that it's going to add to everyones' workloads, but this is urgent. Some of these cases are coming up for trial shortly, and the Met must _not_ be put in the dock again because of Conroy's negligence."

"An' no more innocent people must be put in jail," Gene added drily.

"Quite so." Keats picked up the topmost file from the stack. "This is the most important case. To be honest I would never have suggested assigning it to _your_ station, but the Assistant Commissioner's office is very keen for DI Drake to be involved."

Gene chose to ignore the implied insult. "What's it about?"

"Infanticide. A mother whom Conroy has charged with killing her own baby."

"Bloody 'ell. You're right, we'll want Drake. I'll pair 'er with Skelton for this investigation."

Keats looked dubious. "This case will need careful handling. Every time Skelton opens his mouth, he puts his foot in it."

"Drake can do the talking. Skelton needs the experience, 'is exam's comin' up soon. He can watch an' learn. Besides, 'e's a dad. That might 'elp us with this." Before Keats could object, Gene rose, strode to the door, flung it open, and bawled, "DRAKE! CHRIS! In 'ere!"

They exchanged puzzled glances and trooped into Gene's office. Gene gave them a brief résumé of the situation regarding Conroy and the review of his cases, before turning to Keats to give them background on the infanticide case. Much though he disliked allowing anyone else, let alone Keats, to take the lead like this, he was professional enough to know that it would save time and ensure that they were all working from the same information.

"The woman's name is Juanita Townley."

"Funny name," Chris commented, and Gene quelled him with a look.

"She's Spanish," Keats went on. "Her husband is English. She has Spanish nationality, but the baby was a British citizen. That's why this is all such a mess. The Spanish Embassy is up in arms about it already, and once now Conroy's been discredited it can only get worse. If we jail her and then she's released on appeal, it'll be a diplomatic and PR disaster."

"What's the evidence against her?" said Alex gravely. Gene sensed that she shared his disgust with Keats's preoccupation over publicity issues.

"She's a successful businesswoman," Keats explained. "She and her husband run a company which builds and sells holiday and retirement properties in southern Spain. That's how they met. She was running a business in Spain and he in England, and they merged their companies. They got married a couple of years later, and she came to live with him over here. She fell pregnant. It hadn't been planned, and several witnesses have said that before the baby was born, she complained repeatedly that the timing was bad and would harm the business and her career. After the baby was born, a girl, Mrs Townley hired a nanny and went back to work at the first opportunity."

Alex bowed her head, and Gene could see her distress. _This case will be hard for her because it's about another mother who's lost her child. But maybe it'll help her to come to terms with it. This Townley woman will need her._

"Everything went well until the baby was ten months old," Keats continued. "She was strong and healthy. Then the nanny was absent without warning one night and Mrs Townley had to look after the baby herself. The following morning, the baby was found dead in her cot. The Townleys summoned an ambulance, but she was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. The hospital authorities summoned the police, and that was when Conroy came into it. The doctor who tended the baby was interviewed and testified that she had two broken ribs and bruising to her chest."

Alex frowned. "Those injuries could be consistent with CPR."

"The Townleys insisted that she was unharmed when she was put to bed, the night before she died," Keats continued. "But Conroy was convinced that Mrs Townley had killed the baby because it would interfere with her career. He cited the baby's injuries, Mrs Townley's complaints before the birth, and the fact that the baby had been fine until Mrs Townley had looked after her."

"But might it just 'ave been that she didn't know 'ow to look after a baby?" said Chris suddenly. "She'd been relying on the nanny. Shaz was ringing 'er Mum a dozen times a night after we brought Tammy 'ome, to make sure she was doing everything right."

Keats flashed him an approving glance. "That's quite possible, Skelton."

As Gene looked at Chris's bright, earnest face, he suddenly saw it overlaid by that of a man bowed by grief, old before his time. _Summers said Tammy will die in September, of -_

"Mightn't it 'ave been one of these cot deaths?"

Chris's face went the colour of old putty. "What's - "

"It might." Alex had cut across him. "We'll have to study the pathologist's report, the hospital records, witness statements, the interviews with Mrs Townley - "

Gene stood, and the others followed suit. "Right, Drake, Skelton, it's all yours." He handed the file to Alex. "You 'eard the nice Discipline an' Complaints Officer. You're to go through this one like a metal detector in a shit 'eap. We'll 'ave a case conference tomorrow. Comprende?"

"Comprende, Guv," they both muttered, and left, Alex leading the way.

_Chris has never heard of cot death. Must mean that Shaz hasn't either. But Bolly has, and she can warn them. Please God, that may be enough to save Tammy._

Unwillingly, he settled back in his chair as Keats picked up the file of the next Conroy case and proceeded to explain it to him.

-oO0Oo-

"Come on, Chris. Grab a cup of tea and a notebook, and we'll see whether we can find a spare office, or maybe an interview room. We need somewhere where we can go through this file in peace and quiet."

Chris obeyed, but as soon as they had taken possession of Interview Room 2 and sat down with the file, he fixed Alex with terrified eyes.

"Boss, what's cot death?"

"Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Chris," Alex said gently. "It kills up to 300 babies under a year old in the UK, every year."

"God." Chris was horror-struck. "But what causes it?"

Alex sighed. "Unfortunately, nobody knows for certain, although there are plenty of theories. You're thinking of Tammy, aren't you?" she added gently.

He nodded. "Yeah, of course. Never 'eard of anything like that." He looked terrified. "Is - is there anything you can do to stop it?"

"I shouldn't worry too much," she said gently. "It's a comparatively rare occurrence. There can't be any history of it in your family or Shaz's, or you would certainly have heard about it. That's a good start. There are plenty of things one can do to lessen the risk."

He grabbed the notebook. "Like what?"

Alex thought for a moment. "Does Shaz put Tammy to sleep on her back?"

"No, always on her front. She sleeps better that way."

"Tell Shaz _always_ to put her to sleep on her back. It reduces the risk. Do you smoke around the house?"

"Nah, Shaz won't let me, since we brought Tammy 'ome."

"Good for her. A smoky atmosphere creates a risk. She should make sure that Tammy's feet are touching the end of the cot. The bedclothes should only come up to Tammy's shoulders, and they must _never_ cover the head. That could stop her breathing."

Chris was scribbling furiously. "Great. Anything else?"

"Yes. Make sure the room temperature is comfortable, and that Tammy isn't too warm under the bedclothes. She mustn't have a quilt, an electric blanket, a duvet or a pillow until she's a year old."

Chris looked aghast. "She's got a pillow. One that Shaz's Mum made 'er."

"Tell Shaz to take it away until she's a year old. No toys or other clutter in the cot, either. Does Shaz ever sleep with her in bed, or on the sofa?"

"On the sofa, sometimes."

"That's another no-no. She could roll over in her sleep and squash Tammy flat. Is the cot in your bedroom?"

Chris blushed. "Yeah."

"Good. You can keep an eye on her and spot right away if anything's wrong. Is the cot beside a heater, or in direct sunlight?"

"There's a radiator in the room, but it's under the window. The cot's against the far wall. We didn't want her getting into draughts."

"That should be OK, so long as the room doesn't get too warm. There's a school of thought which says that the materials used to make cot mattresses give off toxic gases. It's a good precaution to wrap the mattress to make sure she can't inhale any noxious substances. Oh, and does she sleep with a dummy in her mouth?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That reduces the risk too."

Chris finished scribbling, ripped the sheets from the notebook, folded them, and stuffed them into his back pocket. "Thanks a million, Boss. I'll pass all this on to Shaz."

"Tell her that, if she has any questions about any of it, she can always ring me."

"Thanks. Take a Mum to know a Mum." Chris grinned, and Alex swallowed hard. This was neither the time nor the place to think of her own dread of cot death during Molly's first year. _Some of this stuff I've given Chris won't be discovered for years yet. The mattress wrapping theory dates from 2006. But if what I've told him could save a child's life in this time, maybe my being here won't be in vain. Maybe he and Shaz will pass it on to others._

Pushing her thoughts away, she opened the file. "Now, let's see what we have here."

"Er, what are we meant to be doing, Boss? I mean, I've never had to review someone else's case before."

"The Guv and Keats told us that Conroy's been found negligent in another case. We have to look at what he's done in this case, to see if there are any angles he didn't explore, and if he was justified in charging Mrs Townley and handing the case to the CPS."

"Like whether it might 'ave been a cot death?"

"Yes. We'll have to look at all the evidence, including the medical evidence, and see how he interpreted it. If we aren't satisfied with what we find, we'll have to investigate further. Let's see what's on the file."

-oO0Oo-

At Luigi's that evening, Alex was preoccupied, sitting staring into her barely-touched glass of red wine while Gene watched her with concern. Once upon a time, he would have sat there challenging her to say what was wrong, certainly drunkenly, almost certainly loudly. Now, he fended off Chris's anxious enquiries, glared at Ray for coarsely joking that she "had the decorators in", and swept her upstairs as soon as decently possible, ignoring the suggestive guffaws of those still carousing in the restaurant.

Once in the flat, she seemed to relax a little, but sat on the sofa, cradling another glass of wine, barely speaking. Gene helped himself to a glass and sat beside her, but did not try to touch her. He feared that, if he did, she might pull away. There was something very remote about her tonight.

"Y'okay?" he ventured into the silence. She shook her head and gave him a rueful glance.

"Can't get much past you, can I?"

"Look 'ere, Little Miss Skimpy Knickers, I may not 'ave 'ad any training in psychiatry - "

"_Psychology_."

" - but I _can_ read signs. Called gut instinct."

She sighed. "No, I'm not OK."

He looked at her intently. "Is it the Townley case getting to you?"

"Yes." She looked away.

"Because of the thought that a woman could do - something like that?"

"Women _do_ do such things, Gene, for many reasons. If she did, it might have been because she was suffering from post-natal depression or had an episode. Maybe she's epileptic and had a fit. We'll need to get her medical history, talk to her GP. Or it could have been an accident and she and her husband are covering it up. But if she is innocent, then being accused of murdering her child is the worst possible thing that could happen to her. Whichever, I can't bear to think what she must be going through." She put the glass down. "But given what Jim said, it's just as likely that the baby died of natural causes and Conroy jumped to the wrong conclusion." She looked at him. "What made you think of cot death?"

"Read about it in me paper once," he lied. "Might it 'ave been that, in this case?"

She looked even more serious. "It might. Chris hadn't heard of it, so maybe she hadn't either, and hadn't taken the necessary precautions. He and I are still going through the file. I don't want to draw any conclusions until we've finished and report back to you tomorrow."

"Are you worried about me teaming you with Mr No Brain for this case?"

She shook her head. "No. He needs the experience, and if he has to look for someone else's mistakes, it might stop him making his own in the future. But more importantly, we'll almost certainly have to interview Mrs Townley again, and she's more likely to open up to someone sympathetic."

"You mean someone who comes across to birds as a sweet, dopey div, not as a hard bastard?"

"I've known you and Ray to be so spectacularly insensitive that I've despaired of you both, but then I remember how you comforted Mrs Parks and how you protected Elsie Staines from learning about George's sex change, and how Ray got Nina Akaboa to talk. All the same, in this situation a frightened woman might find your presence intimidating."

"Thanks a bunch."

"Not your fault, you can't help being so imposing. But that is why you're leaving this case to Chris and me, isn't it?"

His eyes twinkled. "Can't get much past you, can I?"

"Not a lot. I can tell Chris to keep his mouth shut and leave the bulk of the questioning to me."

"Never mind Chris, she's more likely to talk to a woman than a man."

"I know, that's why the Assistant Commissioner's office assigned the case to us."

"To you."

"To me." She was silent for about half a minute, while he watched her. "Tell me about Conroy."

"You make me sound like a bloody dating agency," he said gruffly. "Should I be jealous?"

She cuffed him lightly. "I meant, about him as a detective. Do you know him at all?"

He rubbed one hand across his eyes. "Mainly by reputation. Met 'im once or twice at Met functions."

"And?"

He looked at her. "Keats thinks I'm a dinosaur. Conroy's barely crawled out of the primordial swamp onto dry land."

"_Ah_. His attitude to women?"

"Thinks their place is in the kitchen, cooking 'is dinner an' doing the washing up, or keeping 'is bed warm."

"In other words, he'd be likely to take against a successful businesswoman, simply because of who she is."

"Specially if she's put 'er career before 'er kid, yes."

"Racist?"

"The sort who thinks English is best, yes."

"So he could have taken against her because she's a woman, successful in her career, _and_ a foreigner."

"Yeah." He looked at her again. "Hang on, I'm givin' you preconceptions."

She bowed her head and reached for her glass. "Let's just say that I'd guessed as much from what Chris and I have read so far." Her voice was scratchy, as though she were close to crying, and she knocked back the rest of her wine in a single swallow. There was a long silence.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, there is."

"Don't tell me if you don't want to."

She raised her head and looked at him, and he saw all the pain in her eyes. "My mother was a successful career woman, like Mrs Townley. A lawyer. I was made to feel that I was a nuisance, that I got in the way of her work."

Gene ventured to slide his hand into hers. Their fingers interlaced and she gripped his hand tightly. "What about your dad? Was 'e left 'olding the baby?"

"No, he was away a lot. He was a lawyer too. I didn't see him so much, but he was very devoted, very possessive." Her eyes filled with tears. "They died in - in a car accident, when I was eight. I saw it happen and could do nothing. It - it was only a long time afterwards, that I learned that my mother had been planning to take a sabbatical, to spend more time with me. She loved me, really loved me, and I never knew..." She broke down, and Gene threw caution to the winds and pulled her into his arms. She sobbed her heart out on his shoulder, while he rocked and soothed her, silently cursing Keats, Conroy, Mrs Townley, and everyone else who had contributed to her distress. _There'll be more nightmares tonight._ At last she pulled back, wiping her eyes.

"But that's not the worst of it, Gene. I made exactly the same mistake as my mother did. My husband walked out on my daughter and me when she was six months old. She and I have always been so close. Us two against the world. But when she'd been grabbed by a gunman and could have been killed, I sent her home while I went on to work. It was her _birthday_, and I wasn't with her. You were wrong, I have tried to see her, I've tried, I've tried, but I can't, nothing works!" She broke down again, but this time, when he reached for her, she pulled away. His instant reaction was resentment.

_Shit. Will I always have to keep paying for what I said that night?_

"Sorry," he said stiffly. "Know I shouldn't 'ave said what I did about 'er. Knew it right away, know it now."

"You said sorry for that long ago, and I accepted it." Her voice was tiny and fragile. "It's over. Only let me cry for my little girl."

He nodded, ashamed. "Sorry."

_Does this mean that she's accepting that her daughter's dead at last?_

"She's still waiting for me, you know." Alex's voice was very taut, very controlled. "I still hope that someday I'll get home to her."

_Bugger._

She was sitting next to him, but she seemed so far away as she sat there, alone, resolutely pulling herself together.

"Sorry. Sorry. This case has brought it all back again."

"No worries. This is what Genies are for." He could feel her shutters coming down again. "We're two of a kind. Both 'ad parent trouble."

He knew that he was taking a huge risk in laying his emotions bare, but he felt that her confession of her childhood traumas deserved to be reciprocated. His own were all too fresh in his mind. He recalled too clearly, the memories of his past which Sam had shown him on Christmas Eve.

"I know - some of it. Sam told me. Your father - "

"Me Dad came back from the war a drunken brute who used Mam, my brother an' me as 'is punching bags," he said brusquely. "Mam wasn't strong enough to fight back. Wish she'd 'ad your left 'ook. She's 'ad a shit life. No sooner did Dad drop dead at last than Stu took to drugs, disappeared, an' died before I could find 'im. She's never got over it."

Even after all this time, it was so hard to talk about the experiences that had formed him. He dreaded her pity, but when he made himself turn to look at her, he saw only deep love and understanding.

"I'm sorry, Gene. So sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Got to face what's made us the people we are. Doin' that's the tough bit."

_Sam said something like that on Christmas Eve. Thanks, mate._

She nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. He glanced at her, deeply concerned.

"If it's too much for you, let me know, an' I'll take you off the case. The Assistant Commissioner's office can go eat themselves."

She shook her head firmly. "No. I, _we_, have to do this. Whether or not Mrs Townley did it, she'll need us."

"Yeah." There was an uneasy silence. He looked at her very searchingly. "Would you rather I went 'ome tonight?"

"No." There was something close to dread in her eyes and her voice. "Stay. Please. If you want to. I - I can't be alone "

"If you want me to stay, then so do I." He was faintly annoyed at his inability to conceal his relief.

"I won't be any good."

"Never mind that. Come on, you're knackered. Time all good little Bollys were in their beds."

She nodded wearily, and he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, bestowing gentle kisses on her hair. _Turning into a right soft bastard._ But, so long as nobody but Alex knew, he didn't mind. In fact, he liked it.

-oO0Oo-

He made love to her that night as though she might crumble to nothingness in his arms. Despite all his care and skill, he knew that she got little pleasure from it. For that matter, neither did he. He was aware that she was using his body like a drug that would drive her to oblivion. He did not mind. If he succeeded in giving her tormented spirit any rest, he could only be grateful.

Later, the nightmares came, just as he had feared. At first they seemed to centre on her recollections of her parents' death. He heard her say, in a broken little voice, "I failed you, Mummy. I didn't save you. Forgive me. I tried so hard." Then she awakened herself with that terrible screaming. No sooner had he calmed her and got her back to sleep, than he heard her moaning her daughter's name again, and this time he could not wake her. But the feel of his strong arms about her seemed to draw her away from the horrors in her mind, until at last she lay peacefully asleep, her head upon his heart.

He stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm. He had already learned that if he kept on doing that for at least ten minutes after she had fallen asleep, it seemed to send her into a deeper sleep where her dreams could not disturb her. Sometimes it was a struggle for him to stay awake for long enough to do this for her, but now his mind was far too busy.

What she had said that evening, had confirmed his suspicion that her parents had died in a car accident when she was young. _No wonder she tried so hard to save the Prices. She wanted to spare little Alex what she went through. And she said that a gunman grabbed her daughter. Was that how her daughter died? How much longer can she go on like this, deluding herself that Molly's still alive?_

_How long before she can let go of her past and accept that she could have a future, with me?_

_This Townley case is going to be hard for her, but maybe interviewing a woman whose daughter has died, will make her accept the truth._

**TBC**


	3. Interviews

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I wish I could take out an option on Gene...**

**Thank you once again to everyone who's staying with this story and especially those who are taking the trouble to review. I love you all - please keep them rolling in!**

**I'm off to Paris next week (missing Sport Relief - curses - fingers crossed that my DVD recorder deigns to work), which may delay my replies to reviews, but rest assured I WILL reply as soon as I can.**

**I'll try very hard to post another chapter next weekend after I get back - if I don't manage it, the next update will be today fortnight. Apologies in advance for any delay in transmission...**

The following morning, Alex, pale, stern and resolute, marched into Fenchurch East like an avenging fury, collared Chris, and took him off to an office with the Townley file. As soon as they had had their lunchtime sandwiches, she, Chris and Keats joined Gene in his office for her to report their findings.

"It's a complete mess." Alex appeared so angry that she could hardly speak. Gene guessed that she was white with rage beneath her makeup. "Conroy worked on the basis that she had killed the baby, and picked up every scrap of evidence he could find, to support that theory. He hasn't tried any other line of enquiry or looked for any other evidence. We can't find anything to suggest that he tampered with the evidence he had, as he did with the Penstone robbery, but he hasn't tried to find anything which could indicate that the death might not have been suspicious."

"Lazy, sloppy work." Keats stood, his head bowed, his hands in his pockets. "Par for the course. He wanted a quick result that would show him in a good light. The detective who caught a baby killer."

"How did the police get involved in the first place?" Gene demanded.

"The Townleys summoned an ambulance as soon as they realised that the baby wasn't breathing, and went with her to the hospital," Alex explained. "Mrs Townley was hysterical and refused to believe that she was dead. The hospital called the police to have them removed from the premises because they were creating a disturbance. The squad car that took the call came from Fenchurch West, and CID picked up on their report of the incident. Chris and I have listened to the tape of Mrs Townley's interview." Her voice was cracking with emotion. "Oh, God, that poor woman. Conroy simply shouted at her over and over again that she had stated before the birth that she didn't want the baby, and he accused her of killing it because it would spoil her career. She was sobbing and screaming…"

Gene silently pushed a cup of tea in her direction, and she gratefully wrapped herself around it, her hands shaking so much that she nearly spilt it.

"How come her lawyer let him get away with that?" Keats fumed.

"She didn't." Alex managed to smile faintly. "The interview was concluded when she threatened to make an official complaint. Conroy didn't interview Mrs Townley again until he charged her."

"She? The lawyer?" Gene looked to Keats.

"Deborah Farnham. A very redoubtable lady. Just the sort who would get up Conroy's nose."

"'Aven't 'ad the pleasure. So, Drake, what are you two goin' to do about this?"

"For a start, we'll have to interview Mrs Townley again," Alex said resignedly. "Given the way Conroy treated her, she may not be prepared to say anything, but we have to try to win her trust. We'll need to talk to her husband, to the doctor who treated the baby at the hospital, and to the nanny. Chris is going to get hold of the medical records and find out whether the body's been buried yet. The pathologist's report is a sick joke. Horribly sketchy."

"That's worth knowing," Keats remarked. "He's a friend of Conroy's."

"I'll want _our_ pathologist to go through everything with a fine tooth comb," Alex continued. "If the body's still available for examination, that will help. We hope to get more leads once we've talked to the Townleys and the hospital."

Gene fixed Alex with his eye. "D'you think she may 'ave done it?"

Alex spread her hands wide. "Impossible to say at the moment. Conroy's investigation has been too one-sided. But Chris has made the most logical observation so far."

All eyes turned to Chris, who blushed. Alex nodded at him encouragingly, and he said bravely, "Conroy's based 'is case on Mrs Townley saying that the baby'd spoil 'er business. But she'd got a nanny. Once she was out of 'ospital, it didn't affect 'er work at all. If she didn't want it to 'urt 'er business, she could 'ave 'ad a termination."

Gene and Keats nodded, and Keats said approvingly, "Good work, Skelton."

"Yeah, good work, _both_," Gene said briskly. "Right, off you go. There'll be a bottle of 'ouse rubbish at Luigi's with your names on it tonight."

-oO0Oo-

The Townleys attended Fenchurch East for their interviews the following morning with their lawyer in tow. Jonathan Townley, a tall, slender, fine-looking man with slightly receding hair, in a very expensive suit, and Deborah Farnham, a brisk, formidable, middle-aged lady whose very spectacles intimidated Chris, both fairly dwarfed the main reason for the visit. Juanita Townley, very plainly dressed in black with her black hair tied severely back at the nape of her neck, was a small delicate, graceful woman with olive skin and fine-cut features, who might once have been extremely beautiful, but whose face was now drawn into an expression of pain which reminded Alex of a Madonna in a Crucifixion group which she had seen in a Spanish church during a childhood holiday with Evan. She clung close to her husband, as if fearing that at any moment she might be dragged away from him.

Their arrival was announced by an outburst of shouting at the front desk. Alex and Chris emerged from the CID office to find Mr Townley, his arm around a terrified Mrs Townley, haranguing a bewildered Viv.

"It's outrageous! Why should Juana be put through this torture all over again? Isn't it enough for you blood-suckers that you've charged an innocent woman with murder?"

Alex stepped forward. "Mr Townley? Detective Inspector Alex Drake, CID. You should address any questions to me. Sergeant James keeps the desk, but he has no knowledge of your case."

Her calm manner quietened Mr Townley, but only for a few moments. "Well, then, _inspector_, perhaps _you_ can tell me why you're determined to torture my wife again?"

"I can assure you that there will be no torture involved," Alex said quietly. "I deeply regret that I had to ask you to come here today - "

"So do I!"

" - but this case has now been handed to DC Skelton and myself, and we are anxious to ask both of you about certain matters which were not covered by the original investigation."

"Too bloody right!"

"We know that this is a cover-up exercise," Deborah Farnham added grimly. "DI Conroy has been suspended, and now you need to protect the Met."

"There will be _no_ cover-up." Again Alex's quiet manner quelled the bluster of the other two. "All we are concerned about, is finding out the truth."

Mr Townley's mouth was already open for his next broadside, but Mrs Townley laid her hand on his arm.

"Jonathan - Deborah - please. I will speak to these people. Maybe they will listen to me." She spoke perfect English, but with a pretty Latin lilt.

"Thank you, Mrs Townley." Alex smiled at her. It was a smile which a frightened woman could trust. "Your lawyer will be present throughout, of course. Would you ladies care to step this way? Chris, show them to Interview Room 1. Mr Townley, please wait here. I hope we won't take very long with your wife. Viv, please get Josie to bring us tea and biscuits for four, and to bring some for Mr Townley, too."

Mr Townley, his face like thunder, subsided into a seat by the desk, glaring daggers at poor Viv, who promptly fled to find Josie while the ladies followed Alex and Chris.

Once they were installed in the interview room, and Josie had brought refreshments, Alex switched on the tape recorder, stated who was present, and commenced the interview.

"Mrs Townley, Miss Farnham, thank you so much for coming here today. I am Detective Inspector Alex Drake, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Chris Skelton. I'm so sorry that we need to subject you to another interview, but as I explained to your husband, this case has been referred to us, and we need to follow up some different lines of inquiry."

Mrs Townley fixed them with a haunted, accusing gaze. "Will you listen to me?"

"It's what we're 'ere for, love," Chris said gently.

"That man did not listen." Her voice was soft and bitter. "He just accused me."

"DI Conroy is no longer involved in this investigation." Alex strove to sound reassuring. "That is why we need to talk to you."

"_I did not kill my daughter._"

It was said so quietly, yet the intensity of it was as great as though she had shouted in their faces. Chris instinctively recoiled.

"Go on," Alex said gently. "Tell us what DI Conroy would not hear."

Miss Farnham moved, as though to caution her client against saying anything damaging, but Mrs Townley motioned to her to be silent.

"I know, before Constanza was born, I complained about the timing. Our business has been going through a difficult time. We had over-extended, and I feared that Jonathan might not be able to cope without me at a crucial time. We had not planned to begin a family so soon. You British do not understand. I am a Catholic. Life is sacred to us. I could not destroy the life that God had given to me."

_Shit. That's Chris's big theory down the drain._

"So," Mrs Townley continued, "I arranged to return to work as soon as I could after we had brought Constanza home from hospital. We hired a nanny, Grace Adams. Such a good, helpful girl."

"We will be talking to her later," Alex said.

"I spent as much time I could with Constanza, for I wanted her to know me, recognise me. I did not want her to grow older, thinking that her nanny was her mother. But we were so afraid that we might lose everything that we have worked for, everything we have built up to give her a good future. I had to work, work, work all the time. I was so weary of it. At last, when things were improving, we agreed that I would work with Jonathan on one more big deal which should secure our company, and then I would leave the business to him until Constanza was old enough to go to school. But then, a week before the deal came through, she died." Tears were rolling down her face. "Everything ended. Our business was saved, but that was no use when she was not there."

Alex could barely speak. _It's Mum and me all over again. Knowing too late how precious our daughters are._

"Do you believe that I loved my daughter?" Mrs Townley pleaded.

"Chris and I are both parents," Alex said carefully.

"Are you? Do - do you have boys or girls?"

Chris broke into his goofiest smile. "Daughter. Tammy. Just turned six months. 'Ere she is with 'er mum." He produced a battered photo of Shaz and Tammy from his back pocket. Mrs Townley seized it and gazed upon it with desperate hunger.

"You are very fortunate," she whispered, returning the photo to him.

"I know," he replied simply.

"Here is my Constanza." Mrs Townley fumbled for her handbag and pulled out a snapshot of a smiling baby, all dressed in pink, nestling in her crib. "See - I could never have killed her."

_She has a pillow,_ Alex registered, _and those blankets look much too heavy._

"Spanish name?" Chris returned the photo.

"Connie or Constance in English, but I always called her Constanza."

_My constant._

"And you?" Mrs Townley turned to Alex.

"Molly," Alex said softly. "She's twelve. She's a long way away."

"You should be with her," Mrs Townley said accusingly.

"I know. It - it's difficult. I'm divorced. My ex-husband - "

"Ah, so he has custody and denies you access? I am sorry. But you should fight for her."

"I do. Always."

_Robin Elliot did something very like this. Got me to talk about Molly, to distract me._ She resolved to get the interview back on track.

"Our file doesn't have any account of events on the day Constanza died. I'm sorry to distress you, but can you tell me exactly what happened?"

"Of course! I tried to tell that man, but he did not wish to hear. I came home at 2.00 after a meeting. Jonathan was out. I had come home at that time, because Grace wanted a few hours off to visit her mother. She was going to come home in time to give Constanza her evening feed and put her to bed. But at 4.00 she phoned me to say that her mother had had a bad accident, she had fallen in the kitchen holding a knife and was bleeding heavily. She had to take her to the hospital and stay with her for as long as she was needed. She rang off before I could ask her any questions, and after that I could not contact her again. She next rang me at 10.00 that night, to say that her mother was staying in hospital overnight, and she was staying with her. Of course that was long after I had put Constanza to bed."

_This is long before mobile phones became common. Once she'd left her mother's house, Grace was out of contact._

"But that did not matter," Mrs Townley continued. "I had watched her often enough, and I knew what to do. She had left the formula milk ready, and at 5.00 I gave Constanza her bottle and then her supper."

"What was that?"

"Heinz Chicken with gravy."

Alex nodded. That tied in with the analysis of the stomach contents in the post mortem report.

"Forensics found the empty jar in the rubbish and analysed the remains," Miss Farnham said sharply. "They found it to be perfectly innocent. Is there any point in this line of questioning, DI Drake? You're upsetting my client."

"There is. I'm sorry, but we cannot carry out an investigation unless we have the information."

"It is all right," Mrs Townley said calmly. "I will go on."

"What did you do after you'd fed 'er?" said Chris gently.

"I winded her, and then sat on the sofa with her in my arms and rocked her as she fell asleep. I was so happy that evening. My baby was my own at last, and in a few days I was going to look after her always. Grace was going to stay with us, to help me, but at last I would be a real mother. I never wanted that evening to end. But at 6.00 I knew I should put her to bed, so I took her upstairs to the nursery."

"Where was her room in relation to yours?" Alex asked.

"At the far end of the corridor, four doors away."

"Did anyone sleep in the room with her?"

"No, Grace had her own room on the floor above."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, please go on."

"The room wasn't very warm, so I turned the heating on full. It was a very cold night, and I didn't want her to take a chill. I snuggled her up in the blankets and made sure the pillow supported her head well. I'll never forget the sight of her, lying on her tummy, pulling the blankets over her little head, like a rabbit in a burrow. She was cuddling her teddy bear, and she had her doll on the other side…" She broke down in tears.

"But - " Chris began, and Alex kicked him hard under the table.

"DI Drake, I must object!" Miss Farnham snapped. Mrs Townley shook her head and dried her eyes.

"Did you, or anyone else, check on her later in the evening?" Alex said gently.

"Yes, I crept in there every half hour. She was breathing, I heard her. She was still alive when Jonathan and I went to bed at 11.00, I swear. But in the morning when I tried to wake her, she was blue, and floppy, like a rag doll. Jonathan phoned an ambulance, and it arrived almost at once. They took her away to hospital, and we followed in the car. When we got there, we waited and waited for news until the doctor told us that she was dead. Then I went mad. I remember nothing until we got home, but I am told that the police had to remove us. Later that day, that man knocked at the door and said I was suspected of murdering her. He said that I had struck her in the chest, so hard that she died." She turned tear-filled eyes on Alex and Chris. "I vow by the Holy Madonna that I never touched my baby except in love! He said her chest was bruised. She had no bruising when I undressed her for bed. We had no time to grieve before the nightmare engulfed us. Now they will not even let me see her again. They will not let me bury my little one."

"EH?" Chris spluttered. Alex prodded him.

"Please excuse my colleague. Who are "they"?" She waggled her fingers.

"The police, of course!" Miss Farnham spoke as though they were imbeciles. "Miss Townley's body has been retained pending the trial!"

"Thank you, Miss Farnham. Mrs Townley, I'm sorry to have distressed you so much, but can you please help me with just one more question?"

"Yes. What do you wish to know?"

"Is there any history of childhood deaths in your family?"

She frowned. "Not that I know, but my family in Spain is very large. I am not in touch with all of them. I will give you my mother's address. She may be able to help you." She rummaged in her handbag, fished out an address book, copied an address on a scrap of paper, and handed it to Alex.

"Thank you so much, Mrs Townley. I'm very grateful for your help. The interview concluded at 11.33am. DC Skelton and I need to check the file, then we'll need to speak to your husband for a few minutes."

Mrs Townley and Miss Farnham left. As soon as the door had closed behind them, Chris turned horrified eyes on Alex.

"She broke every rule in the book! All those things you told me about cot death!"

"Yes," Alex said painfully, "and the tragedy is that she thought she was doing her best for her baby. She may have been killing her. It may not be that, we don't know yet. But did you notice the other three significant things?"

"The bruises," Chris said instantly. "She said they weren't there the night before."

"Of course, she could have been lying."

"Boss, that woman never killed 'er baby!"

"I don't think so either, but we have to remain objective. What's the second?"

"The body. We 'aven't been able to find out where it is, or if it 'ad been buried."

"We'd better check the Fenchurch West mortuary. Keats says that the pathologist is a friend of Conroy's. He may be concealing evidence. We've got to talk to Mr Townley now, get Terry and Poirot to go. Tell them to take plod if they need backup. What else?"

"She checked on 'er, and she was alive at bedtime?"

"The Townleys weren't in the ambulance on the way to hospital, and haven't seen the body since. That strengthens the possibility that the chest injuries were caused by CPR. Off you go. Send Terry and Poirot out, and bring Mr Townley back with you. When we've seen him, we'll need to talk to Grace Adams and the hospital staff."

"And write to Mrs Townley's mum?"

"Yes. We probably won't be able to get a sight of medical records because of patient confidentiality, but if the mother can tell us about any incidence of infant death in the family it could be a big help."

Alex concluded that Mrs Townley must have said something soothing to her husband, because when Chris showed him in, he was far less belligerent than he had been earlier. As it turned out, he could add little to what his wife had told them. He had only returned home after Mrs Townley had put Constanza to bed, and had not checked on her. All he could do, was to confirm her account that they had followed the ambulance to the hospital and then waited for news, and to add some detail to the circumstances in which they had been ejected from the hospital by the police.

"It was disgraceful for bereaved parents to be treated like that. Juana was almost insane with grief. We were hauled out of there like drunken football fans. At the very least they should have given us a room where we could sit for a while until I had calmed her down. Then that clown Conroy seized upon the whole disgusting incident to claim that she'd murdered Connie."

After he, his wife and Miss Farnham had gone, Alex made it her priority to contact Grace Adams. Miss Farnham had given her the phone number for Grace's new employers, and by great good fortune it was Grace who answered the phone, but as soon as Alex stated her name and business, Grace hung up. Alex waited for a quarter of an hour, and rang again. This time, a man answered, and Alex made a point of stating that she was from the police before the man, whom she guessed to be Grace's employer, brought her to the phone. This time, Grace muttered an agreement to meet her outside St Dunstan's half an hour hence, and Alex and Chris grabbed a pool car and raced over there.

They had only been parked outside the ruined church for a couple of minutes when an affluent-looking Daimler stopped nearby and a frightened, sulky-looking woman in her late twenties got out. Alex opened the door, and the girl got in. Chris was already sitting in the back, notebook in hand.

"Are you Grace Adams?" Alex allowed some steel to creep into her voice.

"Yes. Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Why didn't you want to talk to us? We could have arrested you for obstructing an investigation."

"Have you any idea how hard it's been for me to get another job, after working for a woman who's been accused of killing her baby? People are saying I must have had something to do with it. I'm trying to get past all that and establish myself in a new family, then you pop up and bring it all back again! You make me sick."

"You'll be called as a witness at the trial anyway," Alex said severely. "If you failed to appear, you'd be in contempt of court. If you'd co-operated with my first call, your employers need never have known about it."

"That's him, in the swish car. Mr Ross. He brought me here. Said I should do my public duty by helping the police."

"So you are, and you could be helping Mrs Townley, too."

"What's the use?" Grace snarled. "You've already decided she's guilty."

"_We_ haven't. Another officer may have done, but he is no longer connected with the case."

"Isn't he? That awful Conroy man?"

"That's right. DC Skelton and I are leading the investigation now."

Grace hung her head. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I thought you were working for him."

"Perish the thought."

"He tried to feel me up," Grace whispered. "When he interviewed me. Got his big dirty hand under my skirt and groped my thigh. I'd been trying to tell him that Mrs Townley's innocent, but he didn't want to know. I was scared. He just kept trying to make me say that she didn't want the baby and had got rid of it. When I wouldn't say that, he told me to keep quiet, or I could be implicated. I was afraid that I'd be charged."

"Why didn't you make a complaint about him?"

"What good would that have done?" Grace said bitterly. "A senior police officer and a nanny working for a baby killer - which way would _you_ jump? And what if you're lying and you're going to tell Conroy what I said?"

Alex scribbled two names and phone numbers on a slip of paper and handed it to Grace. "We work at Fenchurch East CID. Ring that number and ask for Jim Keats. He's our Discipline and Complaints Officer. He'd be delighted to talk to you about Conroy. If he isn't in when you ring, call me, DI Alex Drake. Now, the reason we wanted to talk to you is that the case records we received, didn't include any description of events on the day the baby died. Mrs Townley has now given her account, and we'd just like to check some facts with you."

Grace glared at Alex. "She didn't kill Connie. She loved her. _I_ loved her, but nobody thinks of that."

"Then the best thing you can do for Connie, is to help us find out the truth. I understand that you'd been given the afternoon off?"

"That's right. Mrs Townley had agreed it long ago. I'd left Connie's food and milk ready and made up her cot, just in case I was delayed getting back. I never expected to be away all night. Mum slipped on a patch of water in the kitchen while she was holding a breadknife. She fell on it and cut her arm. Blood everywhere. I was terrified. I called for a cab to get her to hospital, and I only just had time before it arrived, to ring Mrs Townley and tell her what was happening. When we got to hospital, Mum was in a lot of pain and I couldn't leave her. It wasn't until much later that I could go away and find a payphone to call Mrs Townley again."

"Had Mrs Townley ever looked after Connie by herself before?"

"She'd sort of played at it, but I'd always been there doing the work, if you see what I mean."

"What was Connie's nursery like?"

"A nice, big, airy room. The whole house is always very warm because Mrs Townley hates the cold - it comes of her being used to the Mediterranean climate - but I tried to keep the temperature in the nursery down because Connie got fractious if it was too hot. Mrs Townley thought I was trying to freeze her darling. I used to catch her turning the heating up when I wasn't looking, and covering her with loads of bedclothes. It's the same wherever I've worked. I'm a trained, qualified nanny, but mother always thinks she knows best. You can't tell them."

"You knew that Mrs Townley was going to start looking after Connie herself?"

"Yes, but I was going to stay on for a couple of months to make sure she was doing everything right. Then I was going to move on to a friend of theirs whose baby was due shortly. I lost that job, after Connie died. They thought I might be responsible. It's taken me a long time to get another job. That's why I'm scared of losing it."

"Thank you for helping us, Grace. That's all we need to know."

"I can go now?"

"Yes, and remember what I said about ringing Jim Keats."

Grace got out of the car and glared at Alex through the window. "Just remember, she didn't do it." She stalked back to the Daimler and got in, and Alex and Chris watched as it drove away.

"Bloody Conroy," Chris muttered.

"Yes," Alex said soberly. "Sexual harassment of a witness, and if she'd complained about him, he'd have taken it as an opportunity to rubbish her evidence. I hope she talks to Jim."

The radio lying on the dashboard crackled. "Terry to DI Drake, over."

Alex picked it up. "Drake here. Found anything?"

Even though the static, Terry sounded unbearably smug. "Searched the morgue and found Connie Townley's body in an unmarked container. The ledgers show that records had been falsified by Harshaw, the Fenchurch West pathologist, to conceal the fact that she was there. We've got him. What do you want us to do with him, Boss?"

"Take him back to the station, interview him, charge him with concealing evidence and falsifying police records, and bang him up. Take the ledgers too, they're evidence. Get the body to _our_ pathologist and tell him I want a full examination and report ASAP. Good work, boys."

"We'll have to add resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. Poirot's got a black eye."

"Do that. Tell the Guv and Keats. Chris and I are off to the hospital. Out."

-oO0Oo-

The case file named the medic who had tended Connie as Dr Stephen Rowan. He was a tall, thin, anxious-looking man who looked at his watch every half minute.

"I appreciate that time you spend with us is stolen from your patients, so we won't keep you long," Alex said smoothly. "You must face so many tragedies in the course of your job. How clearly do you remember this case?"

"All too well. The child was obviously dead when the ambulance brought her in. She was blue. We tried to revive her, but it was hopeless. If she had come round, she would have been brain damaged. She had been starved of oxygen for too long."

"Have you any idea how long she had been dead?"

"Judging by the body temperature and the weather that day, probably since around 3am that morning."

"A witness has told us that her room was very warm."

"Possibly earlier then. Around 1am. But don't quote me on that. I'm not an expert on times of death."

_After her parents said they went to bed._

"Understood. The body was damaged?"

"Yes, she had broken ribs, severe bruising to the chest and internal injuries. But to judge by the pattern of the bruising, I'd say that it was inflicted some time after death."

"_After?_"

"Yes. Perhaps during attempts at resuscitation. Look, I've told the police all this already. Why did you need to ask me again? I'm a busy man."

"There's nothing on our file. When was this, and whom did you tell?"

"It must have been three or four days after the tragedy. A big, fat, grey-haired man in a brown coat. A very self-important type."

"_Conroy_," Chris muttered.

"Yes, that was his name."

"Thank you, that's very useful." Alex took charge again. "Would you have any views on the cause of death?"

"I wouldn't like to say. I'm a doctor, not a pathologist. But I don't believe that she died of her injuries."

"Thank you. Would the hospital records give the names of the paramedics who answered the Townleys' 999 call?"

Doctor Rowan directed them to the office resposible for recording the ambulance crews' movements, and vanished down the corridor at the speed of light. A quick check of the log book confirmed the names of the crew, and Alex and Chris caught them as they came off their shift. Charlie Winston, a bluff, middle-aged man, and Richie Smith, a 22-year-old, red-headed livewire, were happy to answer questions as they drank tea and absorbed bacon butties.

"Of course we remember that case," Charlie said gloomily. "Poor kid. We were sure she was dead when we got to the house, but we had to try to revive her. It was a nightmare, trying to get the ambulance through the morning rush hour traffic, and to crown it all the defillibrator went down while we were stuck in a jam. Rich had to give her CPR."

Alex turned to Richie. "_Did_ you?"

Richie swallowed his tea and wiped his mouth. "Yeah. I knew I was making a horrible mess, such a small baby, I could feel the ribs cracking, but it might have been her last chance. What do you do?"

"Hadn't you told the police this?"

He looked blank. "No. Nobody's asked us. It's all in the log. We thought the admin were dealing with all that. Should we have?"

"You've told us now. That's the main thing."

Exhausted, Alex and Chris returned to Fenchurch East just in time to update Keats and Gene before beer o'clock. Terry and Poirot had already told them about their findings at Fenchurch West and Harshaw's arrest.

"We've got the beginnings of a case against Conroy and Harshaw, thanks to you," Keats exulted. "If Miss Adams doesn't call me, I'll call her. This is too good to lose."

Gene said little. Alex's account of Mrs Townley's sufferings and Grace's distress had left him with no sympathy for Conroy, but he felt distaste at Keats's almost ghoulish pleasure in doing down a fellow copper. On the other hand, he felt unutterably proud of Alex.

"So, what's the score at 'alf time?" he asked her, as they ploughed through vast portions of fusilli at Luigi's. "D'you think she's innocent?"

"I'm convinced of it," Alex replied, sinking half a glass of house rubbish. "But we need more work on the evidence. What we've found out today is," she counted them off on her fingers, "one, that in all ignorance she may have set up the conditions for a cot death. That was Chris's first theory, and he was right on target. Two, that the broken ribs and bruising were caused after death during attempts at resuscitation. Three, that Conroy sexually harassed and intimidated a witness and that he and Harshaw have suppressed evidence. What we haven't got yet is any sound medical evidence as to why Constanza died. I'm hoping we'll get something from the pathologist in the next few days, and Chris is writing to Mrs Townley's relatives to see if we can get any background."

"Bravo Bolly. We'll wait for the next exciting episode. In the meantime," he lowered his voice, "care for a few exciting episodes of our own?"

She gave him a flirtatious sidelong glance. The one that she knew drove him wild. "What were you thinking about, exactly?"

"There's that Betamax of _They Died With Their Boots On_."

"I was thinking more of us doing it with our boots on."

"Now you're talking." He pushed his plate aside. "Luigi! Put this on the tab! We're off!"

**TBC**


	4. Triumph and Tragedy

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. If only I did.**

**Thank you once again to everyone who's sticking with this saga, and especially to my nice kind reviewers. It means so much to know what people think - please keep the feedback coming.**

A few days later, they recived a letter from Deborah Farnham which confirmed that there were no recorded cases of unexplained infant deaths in Jonathan Townley's family since at least 1826, as far back as he had unbroken records. After that, the Townley case went quiet while they awaited reports. Alex, Gene and Ray concentrated on a big, boring, but necessary fraud case while Chris mugged up for his DS exam. Much to Alex's relief, Grace Adams contacted Keats and visited the station two days later to give him a statement. As a result, Keats bustled around as happy as a cop in muck, constructing his case against Conroy and Harshaw. Gene, watching him cynically, noted that at least that took the pressure off _his_ team.

What gladdened his heart most, was overhearing Chris say to Alex, "Boss, Shaz 'as asked me to thank you for that stuff about cot deaths. She 'ad no idea. We've pinned my notes on our kitchen notice board to remind us about all the things you said, and she's telling everyone at her Mother and Baby group about it."

_I won't stop worrying until October 1st, but maybe we've done enough to save Tammy. Maybe. D'you hear that, Summers? Number Two._

It was five days after the Townleys' visit and the retrieval of Connie's body, before the pathologist felt ready to report.

"Poor child," he told Gene, Alex and Chris, as he leafed through the photos on his file. "Doctor Rowan was spot on. She must have died in the middle of the night. Unless someone had been awake to watch her like a hawk all night long, nobody could have done anything to stop it."

"So she wasn't beaten up, then?" Gene said flatly.

"Oh, no. There isn't enough bruising for that." He turned to another photo. Alex had looked away, but resolutely looked back. She owed this to Mrs Townley. "The force of the CPR on her chest was enough to break her ribs. If she had still been alive, she would have have been black and blue. She'd been dead for hours. The ambulance log says that attempted resuscitation began at 8.32am. Given the temperature of the room in which she died, I'd say she'd been out of this world at least six hours before that."

"Cause of death?"

"Now, here's where it gets interesting. I discovered colonisation of _Staphylococcus aureus_."

"Come again?"

"A common and dangerous bacterium. About twenty per cent of the population carry it long term, on the skin or in the nose or throat linings. It can cause a wide variety of illnesses, ranging from skin infections to life-threatening conditions including toxic shock syndrome, pneumonia and meningitis. She may have had it as the result of a small graze, or contact with someone who had touched a towel, sheet or blanket she then used, weeks before her death."

"Is this one of the things that causes cot deaths?" Chris said suddenly.

"Sudden Infant Death Syndrome? It's a possibility. You sound like quite an expert, DC Skelton."

"Boss gave me a few pointers to help with my Tammy." Chris blushed.

"Good show. Might save a few babies from this one's fate."

"Research has demonstrated that undetected bacterial infections can cause SID." Alex checked herself, realising that she was talking about her own time.

"Well, given the state of the body I can't say with certainty what actually caused her death. She doesn't appear to have had any other underlying medical conditions, but it's possible that something may no longer be evident, which I would have found if I'd looked at her shortly after death."

"So would you regard this as a suspicious death?" said Alex.

"On balance, no. We have evidence that her physical traumas were caused after death. There's no other sign of violence, or any of poisoning. I think the evidence we have points to death due to underlying medical causes, not murder or manslaughter. Do we know whether there's any history of childhood death in the family?"

"We're still trying to find that out," Chris said soberly. "We'll let you know if we get anything."

"If you would. I'd like to include it in my report."

They could do no more until, five days later, a long envelope sprinkled with colourful Spanish stamps landed in Chris's in-tray.

"Wayhey! Got some lovely señorita writing to you, then?" Ray dug Chris in the ribs as he passed his desk. "Should I be warning Shaz about Spanish seductions?"

"Nope. This is for the Townley case," Chris told him primly, searching vainly in his desk for a paper knife.

"Well, can I 'ave the stamps if you don't want 'em, Latin Lover? My nephew collects 'em."

"Wait to see if we need to keep it for the file first," Alex called across from her desk. "What does the letter say, Chris?"

Chris had purloined a paper knife from Mark's desk, slit the envelope, withdrawn the letter and smoothed out the sheets. He looked disgusted. "It's all in Spanish!"

"Get Josie to send it for translation, then. Urgent."

Even with a Urgent flag, the translation did not come back until 3.30 that afternoon. Chris almost snatched it from Josie, read it, and thrust it into Alex's hand, his face wreathed in smiles. "This is it, Boss!"

"What is?" Gene, with unerring timing, emerged from his office. Alex was still reading.

"It's from Mrs Townley's mother, Gene. She's done some family research. She discovered that Juanita's paternal grandmother lost two children in infancy, with no known cause of death, and an aunt on her mother's side lost one. They never spoke about them. It was all long before Juanita was born. She's provided letters from family doctors and death certificates and extracts from medical records to back it up. Cot deaths on both sides of her family, and poor Juanita had never even known."

"Get it to the pathologist for 'is report. That'll do it."

Three days later, with the pathologist's completed report to hand, Alex made her report to the DPP, recommending that all charges against Juanita Rosario Townley be dropped, in view of the gross negligence of, and serious irregularities in, the original investigation, including failure to follow up lines of inquiry, concealment of evidence and intimidation of a witness; the evidence which had since come to light regarding infant deaths in the family; the pathological evidence indicating an infection undetected at the time of death; and the complete lack of any evidence to indicate that Mrs Townley had in any way harmed her baby. Gene joyfully countersigned it and referred it to Keats and SuperStan before onward transmission to the DPP.

A week afterwards, SuperStan summoned Gene, Alex, Chris and Keats to his office.

"Good news. The DPP's office has just called me. They've accepted DI Drake's recommendation to drop the case against Mrs Townley."

"Oh, thank God." Alex visibly sagged with relief.

"Amen to that. Well done, all of you. You've prevented what might have been a grave miscarriage of justice."

"Thanks, Sir, but Drake an' Skelton did all the work on this," Gene said modestly. "I'm going to give 'em both commendations for their work on the case. Skelton's going for 'is DS exam soon, an' every little helps."

"_And_ it's got us enough evidence to begin proceedings against Conroy and Harshaw," Keats added with great satisfaction. "They'll never work for the police again. Two more rotten apples out of the barrel."

"Quite so." SuperStan's expression was mask-like. Gene could not shake the feeling that the Super approved of the results of Keats's work, but could not bring himself to like the man.

-oO0Oo-

It was only thanks to Alex that Chris escaped from his good-luck do at Luigi's, the night before his exam, before the boys could get him completely plastered. He was a bag of nerves for days afterwards, and admitted to Alex that Shaz had so far lost her temper with him that she had nearly thrown a washing-up mop at his head. But everyone's patience with the jittery DC was rewarded at last when he raced into CID one fine morning waving a letter above his head and shouting, "DS Skelton!" The congratulations were universal, and Gene and Alex felt that everyone was allowing him to forget Operation Rose at last. That evening, the celebrations at Luigi's were so riotous and so prolonged that even their good-natured host's forebearance was sorely tried, and Chris had to be poured into a cab at closing time. Alex, who was well away herself, took the precaution of phoning Shaz to warn her of her husband's condition, before she and Gene staggered up to her flat, too far gone to do anything but fall into bed and sleep it off.

"Has Chris said what he's going to do?" she asked Gene the following morning. He was wrapping himself enthusiastically around a fry-up while she dissolved some Alka-Seltzer and nibbled a banana. She found it hard to forgive him for hardly ever having a hangover, no matter what his alcohol consumption had been the previous night.

"You mean, try to stay 'ere or move?" he slurred, his mouth full.

"Yes."

"Not yet. Don't think it's sunk in properly. Usual procedure would be for 'im to move. 'E could stay. Simon's put in for a transfer, so Chris could replace 'im on promotion, if 'e's willing to wait a month or two."

"Which do you think he _should_ do?"

Gene put his mug down. "Whatever 'e does 'ere, there'll always be someone who'll remember what 'e did once. He'd do better to make a new start at a new station. But if 'e goes, I'll miss the div. So will Ray. We've been through a lot together, the three of us."

Alex stroked his arm tenderly. "He's one of the few links you still have to - " She checked herself.

"To what?"

"To - Manchester."

"Yeah."

They both knew that she was going to say "to Sam".

_She said Sam came from the future, like her. Why did she say that? Why didn't he explain it to me, when I saw him on Christmas Eve?_

It seemed there were some things that he was destined never to understand.

He dragged himself back to the present. "I'll leave it to Chris. Don't want to send 'im away if 'e wants to stay. Lot might depend on what Shaz decides to do. Last thing Chris told me, she plans to come back to work part time when 'er maternity leave's over. If she does, I'll recommend 'er for promotion to DC."

"Oh, Gene." As he had hoped, introducing a new subject had gone a long way to dispelling the dark cloud which the near-mention of Sam had raised between them. "That would be wonderful."

He looked uncomfortable. "Hadn't realised 'ow good she is, 'til she wasn't there. Josie can type, do filing an' make tea, but ask 'er to do any detective work an' she blanks out like a switched-off telly. Shaz is a DC in a uniform."

"I'm glad you've worked that out," Alex said warmly, wrapping an arm around his neck. "But what would she do about Tammy?"

"Going to see if 'er Mum and sister will share looking after Tammy while Shaz works part time. She'd go back to full time when Tammy goes to school."

"Sounds like she's got it all organised. Do you plan to tell her you'd recommend her for DC?"

"Not yet. She might want to change 'er mind an' stay with Tammy. Don't want to put pressure on 'er to come back if she doesn't want to."

"Even with Chris's extra salary, they probably can't afford for her _not_ to come back," Alex said sadly, remembering the frightful wrench of returning to work and leaving the infant Molly with a child-minder. She glanced at Gene. "You care a lot about Tammy, don't you? I've heard you asking Shaz and Chris how she is."

Gene looked severely caught out. "Yeah, well, that Townley case makes you realise what can 'appen. How kids can - can die. When you don't expect it." He held his breath. _Didn't mean it to come out like that. But might it make her say how Molly died?_

"Yes," Alex said sadly. "Poor Juanita. I only hope she can put it all behind her now."

_Bugger._

Gene spent so much time at her flat now, that he hardly ever visited his house except to collect the post and a change of clothes. He found this a little peturbing. He was more deeply happy with Alex than he had ever been in his life, but it did not seem right to him that he should be living, almost like a lodger, in her flat. He had a nagging feeling that, by doing so, he was in some way ceding the power in their relationship to her. She should be with him, in his house, cherished and guarded and cared for and comforted. He told himself again and again that it would be the logical thing to do, to offer to her to come and live with him. They would have more space; they could redecorate; it was only about a quarter of an hour from the station by Quattro. Moreover, he still had at the back of his mind the image that Summers had shown him on Christmas Eve of his house, empty and up for sale. It was important to him to confound every one of Summers's predictions. But he still had time for that: the rest of the year. The truth was, that he dreaded doing anything which might endanger his relationship with Alex. He was terrified of the possibility of asking too much of her, and losing her altogether.

Then the blow fell. It was August, and the weather was stiflingly hot. Even in the middle of the night, the flat's open windows could only let in blasts of fried air. Gene awakened in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom. Returning, he was at the doorway to the bedroom when he heard Alex's voice.

"Molly? Molly! Oh, my darling. It's been so long. I thought I'd never see you again."

For a moment, he thought that she must be talking in her sleep. He peered around the door, and saw that she was awake, raised on one elbow, gazing fixedly at a place on the far side of the room. His blood ran cold.

_She's seeing the ghost of her daughter. Nelson showed me that this would happen on Christmas Day, at Chris's place. I managed to stop it happening then, but it's happening now, and I can't do anything to stop it breaking her heart._

"I haven't seen you since I was in my coma," Alex went on. "That was a coma within a coma, I know that now. But have any of my visions of you since I came here been real, or have they all been from that coma world? I don't know, I don't know anything any more. All I know is that you're still waiting for me, and that someday I'll find a way to get home to you. Oh, Molly, I love you so much, I never told you enough. But when I get home, I promise you I'll stay with you for ever. I'll give up my job. We'll live on the money I inherited from Mum and Dad. I'll be there for you, all the time. You'll see, Mols, it'll be wonderful. Just you and me."

She held out her hand imploringly. Gene realised with a sinking heart that while she still believed that she could find her daughter again, he would be less than nothing to her. She would leave him without a second thought, even if it broke him and destroyed him.

_Good job I've never told her what I feel about her. I can't compete with a ghost._

"Have you been watching me, while I haven't been able to see you?" Alex went on. "If you have, then you'll know about Gene. Oh, Molly, he is such a wonderful man. If only you could meet him. You'd probably find him a bit scary at first, but sooner or later you'd adore him. If only I could have the two of you together, in the same time. The two halves of my heart. But I know that that can never happen. When I have to choose between the two of you, you know that I'll choose you, don't you, Mols? I know how much you need me. I had to grow up an orphan, and I'd never want that for you, never. So, even though it'll break my heart in two, and I have to leave half of it behind here, I'll come home to you. Only wait for me, my darling."

Gene's heart swelled, and his eyes felt uncomfortably wet. _So she does feel something for me after all. But what's the good of that, when she's obsessed with finding someone who's dead?_

"Molly, no!" Alex's voice was harsh with terror. "No, Molly, don't, please, no, _no_, _NOOOOOOOOOO_!" She began to scream, again and again and again. Gene raced into the room and gathered her in his arms.

"Steady, Bols. Alex. What's wrong?" He strove to make his voice sound calm and soothing. She collapsed onto the bed, sobbing hysterically, and rolled up into a little ball. He held her close, rocking her gently.

"She blew the candles out," she moaned. "She's gone, she's gone, I've lost her forever, gone, gone, gone, my Molly, gone…"

"Easy, Alex. Easy. Just another bad dream."

"No, no, NO!" she howled, pulling free of him. "It wasn't a dream! This is the dream, this is, where I'm stuck here with you! I've lost her, lost her!"

"Shh, shhh. I'm sorry, Alex, so sorry..."

He got up and closed the windows. No matter how hot it was, he could not let her awaken the entire neighbourhood. He fetched a cool, damp cloth, sat on the bed beside her, and bathed her forehead as she lay there, weeping and moaning. After about an hour, she quietened a little and seemed to be reaching for him, so he risked getting back into bed and taking her in his arms again. This time, she did not fight him off, but lay against him, crying bitterly. He tried to soothe her, but felt utterly helpless in the face of such overwhelming grief. All he could understand, was that in some mysterious way this latest hallucination had made her understand at last, that her daughter was dead.

It went on all night, and by morning, both were exhausted. Her face was swollen with crying, and her breath was coming in harsh gasps. He got up, threw on a dressing gown, fetched a bowl of cold water, and bathed her face. She seemed barely aware that anyone was with her.

"You should stay 'ere today. You'd be as much use to CID as a pork pie at a bar mitzvah," he said firmly. She did not respond. That in itself was a bad sign. Usually she argued like a wildcat at the very suggestion of taking sick leave. "Would you like me to stay with you?" She shook her head indifferently. "Sure?" She rolled away from him. "Okay. I'll go an' get you some breakfast." She lay motionless.

Sick at heart, he showered, dressed, opened the blinds and the windows, and made himself some black coffee and some tea for her, which he left on her bedside table. He did not expect her to drink it. He had no stomach for any breakfast himself, but he brought her a tray with orange juice, toast and jam, a bowl of muesli and a jug of fresh, cool milk. As an afterthought, he added a glass of water and some aspirins. When he brought the tray to her, she had not moved, and the tea was cold and untasted.

"There you go. I'll tell the troops you won't be with us for a bit, an' I'll come back an' check on you at lunchtime unless we get called out. Sure you'll be okay?" Still she did not respond. He was becoming increasingly frightened. This reminded him horribly of that frightful day in the hospital when she had ignored him, then accused him of separating her from her daughter, and rejected him. Their rift then had lasted for a year. _Will the same thing happen again_?

"I'd, er, I'd feel better about leaving you if I know you're goin' to eat something."

She shook her head. At least she was acknowledging his presence.

"Try an' get some sleep, then, if you can. There's some aspirins an' water on the tray. I'll ask Luigi to bring you some lunch. See you later, Bols."

Before he left the flat, he stopped off at the drinks cabinet and the fridge, and put all the bottles of alcohol in his pockets. In her present state of mind, she might go on a bender. As he closed the front door, he could hear her crying again. He went down the inside stairs to the restaurant, and found Luigi cleaning the tables.

"Good morning, Signor Hunt! Is Signora Drake not with you?"

"Not today. She's not at all well."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"She 'ad bad news last night, an' she's very upset. Couldn't get 'er to eat any breakfast. Look, I've got to go, I've a meeting with the Super in an hour. Could you check on 'er for me in an hour or so, and give 'er some lunch? I'll look in at lunchtime if I can."

"Of course I will, Signor Hunt. She will not resist my most delicate special sauces."

"Ta. Oh, an' Luigi, don't give 'er any booze. Even if she asks for it."

Luigi looked shocked, but nodded. "I understand."

"Thanks. See you later."

At work, he waited until the whole team had assembled before giving them the news.

"Josie, gentlemen. DI Drake won't be with us for a few days. She had bad news from 'ome last night. She didn't tell me much, but I gather she's lost 'er daughter." There was a murmur of sympathy. "She didn't get much sleep, an' she's very upset. I left 'er resting, an' I'll be checking on 'er later. Ray, you'll 'ave to take on the Anderson case in 'er absence. The file's on 'er desk, ask me if you don't understand anything."

"Roger that, Guv." Ray paused with unwonted delicacy. "Will she 'ave to go away, you know, for the funeral?"

"Don't know." Ray looked surprised. "She didn't say. I think 'er daughter was with 'er ex, an' she's about as friendly with 'im as Churchill an' Hitler." Gene had drawn upon the tape of the Townley interview for the first part of that statement, and upon memories of Alex's drunken tirades, the night after they had cracked the Staines case, for the latter. "He might not let 'er attend. Bastard may not 'ave told 'er till after it took place."

Ray looked embarrassed. "I see."

Gene looked around the office. "Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all. Josie, tea. Five sugars."

He had only just stowed the booze from the flat in a filing cabinet and settled at his desk, when Chris tapped at the door. "Yeah, _what_?"

Chris entered, looking sheepish. "Sorry to disturb you, Guv, I just thought - shall I ask Shaz to go an' see 'er? She could leave Tammy with 'er Mum for a few hours - "

"_NO_!"

Chris backed away. "Sorry, Guv, I just thought, maybe another woman could 'elp her - "

"Maybe. But the last, the _very_ last person she needs to see right now, is the mother of a healthy child."

Chris coloured. "Sorry, Guv. Didn't think of that."

"No. _You _wouldn't." Gene relaxed a little. "Good thought, Chris. But not now."

As it turned out, he could not check on Alex at lunchtime because he, Chris and Ray were called out to a bank blag and did not return until 4.45. He parked the Quattro, ordered Ray and Chris to get their three captives banged up, and raced up to the flat. To his relief, Alex appeared to be asleep, clutching a sodden Kleenex, but the meal which Luigi had left for her was untouched, as was the breakfast tray. It looked as though she had not stirred from the bed all day.

There was no point in awakening her now, she needed the sleep too badly, but he was desperately anxious that she had not eaten anything. _Hasn't got any spare flesh anyway. Has she got a death wish all of a sudden?_ Descending the stairs, shaking his head, he met Luigi coming up.

"You have been to see her, Signor Hunt?"

"Yeah. She's sleeping now. I might disturb 'er if I stay. I'm goin' back to the station, we've got some scum to interview. Robbery with violence. I'll be back in an hour or so."

"I got my wife to sit with her for a while. She says that all the Signora does is cry and call for someone called Molly. She could not persuade her to eat, and my Maria is very persistent."

"Molly's her daughter. She's dead."

Luigi's kindly face crinkled with concern. "I see. Come back to her when you can. She may listen to you."

_I doubt it. _Gene nodded and left. Emerging into the street, he squared his shoulders and marched across the road and into the station. He had an urgent desire to vent his anxiety and frustration on available scum. Those blaggers were going to wish that they'd been given a nice, quiet thirty-year stretch in a salt mine before they could be arrested by Gene Hunt.

Eighty minutes and three bruised blaggers later, Gene had one quick drink with the lads to celebrate their success, and returned to the flat. As he expected, it was in darkness. He switched on the lights and drew the blinds, and crept into the bedroom. Alex lay awake in the near-darkness, staring into nothingness.

"Bols?" She looked away. "Anyone 'ome?"

She stirred. "I'm not home, but I can't go anywhere else. Not now." Her voice was rough, but perfectly clear.

It was not the answer he had expected, and it caught him off balance. "Eh?"

"You don't have to worry about me going away any more. I'm here for ever. I have no choice." The bitterness in her voice was enough to make even Gene wince.

_It's what I've wanted, but not like this. Not with her feeling like a sullen prisoner, resenting me and everything about this place._

"Right."He did not know what else he could say. He knew that he had to do something to try to lift her from her despair, but he dreaded making the situation worse. He was sorely tempted to use shock tactics and bawl her out. It might goad her into a quarrel. At that moment, any reaction would be better than her lethargy. But it still lay heavily upon his conscience, that he had once accused her of being cold towards her daughter. If he acted insensitively now, he might ruin their relationship for ever.

_Wish I knew the right thing to say. Sam would know, but he's not here._

_Help me now, Tyler. _

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. He did not want to let her see what he felt.

"I've never lost a kid, so I can't claim to know what you're going through. But I remember 'ow it was when I found my brother dead in a squat with a needle in 'is arm, an' when Sam drowned. An' I 'ad to stop my Mam abandoning 'er life after Stu died. I know it's gonna take time for you to work through this, an' I'll try not to rush you. I'll even try not to get impatient, an' I 'ope you realise 'ow great a sacrifice _that_ is. But I know you _will_ get through this. Because you're the strongest person I've ever met, bird or bloke. You've never let anything beat you yet, even me. So I know you won't let this beat you either. All I want you to remember is that you aren't alone. You feel you are, now. When Sam died, I thought nobody knew 'ow I felt. Even Ray an' Chris. Even the wife. Even Mam. I hated everyone an' got pissed trying to dull the pain. I drove 'em all away. Couldn't even talk to Annie. But then one day I realised they were all trying to 'elp me. Couldn't let 'em know I knew that, of course. A bloke has 'is pride. But I stopped shutting 'em out. At first I felt guilty thinking about anything but 'im. The first time I laughed, I felt like a traitor. But Annie said, "He'd 'ave wanted you to laugh again, Guv. He'd 'ave wanted you to go on with your life. Just as I'm trying to. We've all got to live for 'im." An' you know, I think she was right. Still is. We've got to live for the people we lose, as well as for the ones we've got. So try to remember that, an' when you can look past where you are now, remember that we're all 'ere for you. Me, an' Luigi an' Maria, an' all the team."

There was a long silence. He felt exhausted. At last he was convinced that she had fallen asleep while he was speaking, and risked turning around to look at her. She was awake, still staring into nothingness, but he thought, he _hoped_, that there was something there which had been absent before. The tiniest spark of life. Of animation.

"We'll do all we can for you, Bols. Hope you knew that without me telling you. But in the end it'll be down to you. Sam said something like that once. Murder case. The victim's wife 'ad a breakdown an' couldn't speak. Just frozen. She was the only witness. Sam spent ages talking to 'er, coaxing 'er to give us a statement that would 'elp us nail the killer. He said, _It has to come from inside you. I can't make you. _Worked in the end. He was so patient. Just as I know we'll both 'ave to be, now."

He had been looking at her all the time, willing that spark to remain alive. When he finished, there was another deep silence. At last he saw her nod, and her lips shape one word. "Yes."

"Right." He knew better than to hope for more just yet. _Time to switch to Guv mode._ His tone changed. "An' in the meantime, you are _not_ goin' on bloody 'unger strike." She shook her head and turned over, facing away from him. Without another word, he picked up the untouched breakfast tray, marched out into the kitchen, swept the food into the pedal bin, poured out a glass of milk, and swept back into the bedroom with it. "There you go. Don't expect you to put away a three course dinner, but you'll drink this or I'll 'old your nose an' put it down you. Mam used to do that to Stu an' me if we wouldn't drink it. Dad just tried to glass us."

Alex simply looked at him. He sat on the edge of the bed, put his arm around her shoulders, hauled her into a sitting position, and put the glass to her lips. At first she made no attempt to swallow, but as the milk began to trickle down her chin she took the glass and drank. When all the milk was gone, he put the glass down, fished out a noisome handkerchief, and wiped her face.

"That's that." He plumped up the pillows, gently laid her down, and drew the sheet over her. "An' I got you this." He took a king-size box of Kleenex from his pocket and smacked it down on the bedside table. "Like me to stay 'ere?" She shook her head. "Right. I'll be in the living room. Shout if you want anything. Or just if you want to talk. I'll take the sofa tonight."

He hoped so much that she would say no. That she would need him. But she simply lay back and closed her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, nodded, and walked out.

He did not turn the TV on, in case she might call. He did not want to risk failing to hear her. He picked up a book and began to read, not taking in a single word.

It was going to be a long night.

**TBC**


	5. Healing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, BBC and Kudos have all the (official) fun.**

**Thank you yet again to everyone who's reading and especially those who are reviewing this. I really do appreciate it. Please keep those comments coming.**

**I'm afraid there's far too much of this story left to tell, to post it all before S3 starts (especially as some of it hasn't been written yet!) - you'll just have to take the later chapters as AU....**

**In the meantime, enjoy this chapter, and enjoy 9.00-10.00 on Friday!**

She improved infinitesimally during the days that followed. On the second day, she accepted another glass of milk, and on the third day Gene returned in the evening to find that she had got out of bed. True, she was sitting huddled against the arm of the sofa, shivering, and she looked at him as though he were a stranger, but he had to regard anything as progress. She talked to him, but only when she was spoken to, and only about mundane matters. Whether he wanted another cup of tea, or whether it was raining. As though anything deeper were too painful to be endured.

_This is worse than it would have been if I hadn't stopped her seeing the ghost of her daughter last Christmas. I tried to spare her that pain, and now it's happened, it's far worse. But Summers showed me that she'd be like this next Christmas, because of her daughter and because I'd been shot._

_Does that mean that everything he showed me will happen after all?_

_I won't give up. I'll fight with every breath in my body and every drop of my blood to stop any of it happening._

He knew that he was shit at dealing with things like this. He talked to her about the cases upon which he and the team were working, hoping against hope that she would suddenly accuse him of getting everything wrong and start spouting psychiatry bollocks. He had never wished so ardently for a rip-snorting quarrel with her. But she listened to him without commenting. It was as though she no longer had any interest in life or anything in it. He wished he knew someone who might be able to help her. In other circumstances, Shaz might have been invaluable.

He explained the situation to the Super. Castleford was gravely sympathetic.

"Bad business. Sounds as though she's had some sort of breakdown."

"Yes, Sir, I'd thought that. Saw something similar 'appen to my mother after my brother died."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd had a brother."

"Died aged twenty-two, Sir. Drugs."

"I see. Of course DI Drake should take whatever time off she needs to get over this, and if she needs you with her, you're to take time off too. That's an order."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Have you thought about getting psychiatric help for her? If it's needed, you must avail yourself of the Met's facilities. Remember, if she needs to take prolonged sick leave, she'll have to be medically assessed anyway."

"Thank you, Sir. Yes, I had thought of it, but it's early yet, only eight days since she got the news." It seemed like eight years to him. "I'll bear in mind what you've said."

"Good. Let me know if you need any temporary staff to take her place."

"Thank you, Sir, I don't think that will be necessary. Carling has taken over her work, and Skelton has just been promoted."

"Fine. Keep me informed, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Sir."

Gene left SuperStan's office with an idea. He didn't know any psychiatrists, but he did know another psychologist. He went into his office, closed the door behind him, and dialled a number.

"DS Tyler speaking." Despite his weariness and near-despair, he smiled at hearing that gentle voice.

"Gene Hunt 'ere. Hello, Annie love."

"Guv!" His heart warmed at hearing the joy in her voice. "How are you? It's been too long."

"I'm not your Guv now," he growled.

"You'll always be the Guv to me, and you know it. What's up? One of your criminals heading our way?"

"No, nothing like that. Need to talk to you, but not while you're working. What time'll you be 'ome tonight?"

"I usually stay out for a drink at the Railway Arms, but I'll give that a miss. I can be home by six."

"Thanks, love. I'll ring you a bit after."

Gene left with the others at 5.00 and went up to the flat to check on Alex. She was asleep on the sofa, so he gently laid the blue blanket over her and crept out. He met Luigi on the stairs.

"Signor Hunt, I am glad of the chance to speak to you alone. Maria took Signora Drake her lunch today, and found her talking to the television."

"Oh?" This was something new. "Maybe she was watching a game show and knew all the answers."

"No. Maria says that she was pointing the remote at the screen and saying, "Are you still there, Molly? Talk to me. Please talk to me." But the screen was blank. Now Maria is afraid to go back there."

_Oh, God._

"She's often talked about getting messages, 'asn't she?"

"Yes, I remember her saying that once."

"Well, maybe this is more of the same."

"Maybe. I fear for her reason, Signor Hunt. She talks of her dead daughter as though she were still alive. I dread that her grief may have turned her mind."

"Thanks for telling me. I'm talking to a psychologist this evening. Colleague from Manchester. I'll ask her about it. Sorry Maria was scared. If the two of you feel you can't go on looking out for 'er, let me know."

Luigi drew himself up to his full height. "_I_ am not afraid, Signor Hunt. I shall continue to watch over her as though she were my own daughter. Please God, this will pass."

"Yeah. I hope. Thanks."

Gene had a quick drink in the restaurant for form's sake, but nobody was surprised to see him sweep out at 6.00. They assumed that he would go straight to the flat, but instead he went up the stairs to the street, returned to the station, switched the light on in his office, sat at his desk, and dialled Annie's home number.

"Hello? That you, Guv?"

"S'me. Okay to talk?"

"Ready and waiting. What's all this about?"

"I need to talk to a psychologist."

"Oh?" Her tone was gentle and teasing. "I thought you had one of those already?"

"That's just the problem." He described the situation briefly, striving to remain calm and objective.

"I see." He could tell that Annie was mulling over his words in her mind. "So you think her daughter has been dead for some time, but that Alex hasn't been able to accept that?"

"Yes. In denial. But why should she suddenly go mad now?"

"The mind's an amazing organ. It can retain all sorts of information, some suppressed, some forgotten, which is recalled when it's least expected. You say that she has nightmares?"

"Yes. A lot of 'em about 'er daughter."

"Think of her knowledge of Molly's death as a roll of undeveloped film. A latent memory. She's stored it away in her mind, but she can't see it and has forgotten what it looked like when the picture was taken. Then a nightmare reminds her. It shoves the developed image in front of her face, violently and brutally. She can't deny it any longer. All the grief and shock that she's been suppressing all this time comes pouring out, and it's all the stronger for having been kept back for so long."

"So that would account for the hallucinations? An' talking to the telly?"

"Probably. I'd have to study her case in more detail to say for certain. That one about the TV's interesting. Sam said once or twice that he got messages from his television."

_I'm from the future. Just like Sam Tyler._

"Bloody 'ell!"

"Guv?"

"Just thought of something she said once. Not relevant."

_Mustn't bring Sam into it. It's hard enough for Annie already. But Bolly knew Sam. Got to think some more about this._

"Are you sure, Guv?"

"_Yes_. But why's she treating _me_ as Public Enemy Number One?"

"Not you, Guv. Her whole environment. We don't know much, but it sounds as though she left her home after Molly died, to make a fresh start. Maybe she wasn't present at the death, and that made it harder for her to accept it."

"She said once that a gunman grabbed Molly."

"Might have died in a hostage situation or a shoot-out, then, and Alex wasn't there."

"Yeah, she's mentioned Molly being with 'er ex an' a godfather. She might 'ave been denied access."

"She said that Molly blew the candles out. It sounds as though there was some traumatic event connected with Molly's birthday. Maybe her death."

"Her birthday was July twentieth. Saw it on Alex's calendar once."

"About three weeks before Alex's breakdown. It must have been on her mind. Do we know about any other family?"

"Her parents died when she was a kid. Accident. She 'ad a guardian after that, but I don't know anything about 'im. May 'ave died. She an' her ex hate each other. Don't know anything about Molly's godfather either. She's never mentioned anyone else."

"Not much to leave behind, then. She comes to Fenchurch, makes a new start with you and the team, and convinces herself that she can go back to Molly if she wants. That Molly's still alive, somewhere else. She commits herself to you and to her new life. Then it all comes crashing down. There's a lot of guilt in there, Guv. She thinks that if she'd been with Molly, instead of with you, then Molly wouldn't have died. The fact that Molly was already dead doesn't come into it. She looks upon herself as a mother who abandoned her daughter. So what she's feeling now - "

"Yes?"

"Just remember how you felt when Sam died, and multiply it by fifty."

"Don't want to go there."

"She _is_ there, and she needs you to help her get out of it."

"But what can I do, when she's shutting me out?"

"You have to be there for her, Guv. It's going to be hard for you both, and it's going to take time. You're her constant in this world, and whatever you do, you must _not_ give up on her. It may not look like it now, but she needs you to be there for her. Keep hold of that, and be patient."

"I will. Anything else?"

"Does she have any other friends, apart from the team? Any women?"

"There's Shaz an' Jackie Queen, but they're both mums. Don't know how Bolly would react."

"Good thought. Nobody else?"

"Not really. Luigi an' his wife, an' a few people she's met through the job, that's all."

"A pity. She needs to know that everyone's there for her. That she's needed. Look, I've got some leave owing. Would you like me to come down to London and talk to her?"

On the face of it that seemed like a good idea, but his gut instinct told him that for Alex to meet someone else who had known Sam, at this juncture, might be highly dangerous. "Thanks, Annie, that's kind. Not just now. Maybe later."

"Whatever," Annie said equably. "And let me know if you want to talk some more about her. You know I'll do anything for you."

"Thanks, love. Not bad, seeing you threatened to shoot me once. Here I've been, bangin' on about our troubles, an' I 'aven't even asked 'ow you're getting on."

"I'm still here." Annie's voice hardened. "I'm working and looking out for Dad. Not much else to say."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It's good talking to you again, Guv. Don't leave it so long next time."

"Nor you. Thanks, you've 'elped a lot."

"Any time, Guv. 'Bye."

He hung up and poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. He would need it, before going back across to the road to the flat and the mourning woman within.

-oO0Oo-

Five days later, just past lunchtime, Gene approached the desk to ask Viv for the key to the evidence room, and found his sergeant talking to a small, graceful lady.

"I'm sorry, madam, DI Drake isn't here - "

"What's up, Skip?"

Viv turned to him. "This lady wants to see the Boss and Chris."

Gene took charge. "DCI Gene Hunt, love. Can I 'elp you?"

The lady looked a little frightened. "I hope so, sir. I was hoping to speak to Mrs Drake and Mr Skelton. My husband and I are leaving England, and I wanted so much to say goodbye to them and thank them for everything they have done for me."

"Who are you, love?"

"I am sorry, I had told your sergeant. My name is Juanita Townley."

"Ah." Gene had been out at the time she had been interviewed, so he had not seen her before. "Care to step this way?"

Castleford's office was empty, so he guided her into it. "Take a seat, love. Don't worry. I just didn't want to talk to you with the whole rabble listenin' in. Skelton's 'ere, an' I'm sure 'e'll be glad to see you. Drake's not well."

"Oh, I am so sorry."

"She's, er, she's lost 'er daughter."

Juanita crossed herself. "Merciful Heaven!"

"Yeah, a fortnight ago. She's taken it bad. Very bad."

"Forgive me. Of course, I will not intrude upon her grief."

Gene cleared his throat. "Actually, I was 'oping you'd come an' see 'er. She lives across the road. She's not sayin' much to anyone, but if she saw you - " He hesitated.

"You think she might respond to me, because she and I have suffered the same loss?"

He nodded, relieved. "Yeah, that's it."

"Of course I will," Juanita said warmly. "If you think that it would help."

"Hope it does. Might be kill or cure time."

She looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. "You mean that it could be good or very, very bad?"

"Yeah."

"I am willing to try. I would do anything for her."

"Thanks, love. I'll send Skelton in 'ere to 'ave a word with you, then I'll take you to see Drake."

-oO0Oo-

Alex lay on the sofa, staring at the TV. She had not switched it on. There was no point. She knew that she would never see Molly, or anything from 2008, again.

_Molly. Never to see you, never to hear the sound of your voice, your laughter, to feel you in my arms, to smell your hair when you've just used your favourite lemon shampoo. Never to tell you off for not doing your homework or playing your music too loud. Never to cook scrambled eggs on toast for you. Never to iron that green viscose dress you're so fond of, that takes so long to get the creases out. Never to drop you off at school and collect you afterwards. Never to grit my teeth when you're practising your recorder. Never to blow out the candles with you. I won't meet your first boyfriend and comfort you when you break up with him. I won't see you get into university or graduate. I'll never know what you do with your life or how you'll succeed. I'll never know whether you get married or have children. A wall has come down between us, my own darling. I'm trapped here, in 1984. You won't even be born for twelve years. If I live to 2008 in this life, I'll be so old that you won't know me._

_It's all my fault. I took my eye off the ball. If I hadn't got so involved with Gene bloody Hunt, I wouldn't have been distracted from the fight to get back to you. Did that make a difference? Or would it have happened like this anyway? Will I ever know?_

_I mustn't blame Gene. It's not his fault, it's all mine. I told him I needed him, I took him to my bed that night and kept him with me ever since. He can't possibly understand what I'm going through, but he's been so sweet and kind, so gentle and patient. All the things I'd never have imagined of him. _

_I'm stuck here for ever. I know I have a chance of another life in this world, with Gene. But how can I accept it, knowing that I've abandoned my daughter? We could have a future, working together, loving each other, growing old together, maybe even marrying, having children. I have a chance of love and happiness here, better than I ever had at home. But oh, God, Molly, Molly, MOLLY…_

She was surprised to hear a key in the door. Luigi had called about an hour ago with yet another meal which she would not eat, and Gene would surely not come back until after 5.00. But when she looked up, he was standing there, looking unusually tentative.

"Bols. There's someone 'ere who's asked to see you. Juanita Townley."

She sat up, surprised. "Oh?"

"Yes, she's leaving England, an' wants to thank you before she goes. She's outside. I've told 'er what's 'appened, an' said I'd ask you if you'd see 'er. Will you?"

_Someone else who has lost what I have lost. Someone who will understand._

"Yes. Yes, I will."

His face relaxed. "Good. I'll show 'er in an' get back to the station. See you later, Bols."

He swept out, and Juanita stepped hesitantly into the room. As before, she was simply but immaculately dressed, and her face now bore a look of grave inner peace. Alex rose to greet her, suddenly conscious that she was wearing crumpled pyjamas and a dressing gown, her hair tousled, her face swollen and blotchy with constant crying. Without a word, Juanita opened her arms to her, and Alex stumbled into them. They were not DI and former suspect now, simply two women united by their losses.

"My dear," Juanita said softly, holding Alex. "Thank you so much for agreeing to see me."

"I - I'm sorry," Alex choked. "I'm a mess. I wasn't expecting - "

"Of course not." Juanita said gently, her arm around Alex's heaving shoulders. "Never mind that. Let us sit down."

She propelled Alex towards the sofa, but almost once Alex tried to stand. "At least let me offer you some tea."

"Sit there. I will make it." Juanita gently pushed her onto the sofa and vanished into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, and a milk jug. "I take it that neither of us has sugar." Her eyes twinkled. "We both have to look after our figures." She poured out the tea, gave one cup to Alex, who gripped the rim of the saucer for dear life, and sat beside her.

There was so much between them, yet Alex scarcely knew what to say. "You're leaving England?" she ventured.

"Yes." Juanita's voice was very solemn.

"But you've been cleared now."

"Yes, thanks to you and the young man, Mr Skelton. But, as you English say, the mud sticks. Jonathan and I have been hounded by journalists wanting us to sell the story of our ordeal to their newspapers. We have refused them all. There have been rumours that there was more to our case than meets the eye. That the Met believed me guilty, but that the charges had to be dropped because Conroy had been discredited in other cases."

"You could sue the Met for what he did to you," Alex ventured.

"I could. Deborah urged it, and Jonathan wanted it. For revenge, and to clear us in the eyes of those who still doubt us. But that would mean reliving it all again in court, just as we are trying to rebuild our lives, and that we could not bear. It might only intensify the suspicions of those who already doubt us. Besides, although Conroy worked for the Met, so do you and Mr Skelton. If we were to sue, it would be like punishing the people who saved us."

"Thank you," Alex said quietly.

"We know that we will have no peace while we live here," Juanita continued. "We have decided to move to Spain and concentrate on our business interests there. Jonathan's brother has joined our company, and he will administer the British arm of the business for us. Some may call it running away, some may think that by failing to stay and face it out we confirm our guilt. All we know is that we cannot do anything else if we are to survive."

"I'm sorry," Alex whispered.

"Do not be." Juanita put her cup down and hugged her. "We owe the two of you more than we can say. I was in despair because nobody in the police would listen to me. But when we came here, the two of you listened to me, you believed in me and trusted me. You searched for the truth of Constanza's death and found it. My little one can rest in peace now, and we can live again, thanks to you. That is why I wanted, so much, to see you and thank you both, before we leave."

"You've seen Chris, then?"

"Yes, at the station. He told me that he has been promoted."

"That's right. He received a commendation for his work on your case. He had the chance to move to another station, but he decided to stay here. Some members of this team have been together for a very long time, and he couldn't face leaving. His wife works here too, that was how they met."

"I know. He was telling me all about her, and about their baby. Little Tammy."

"And - " Alex paused. "Will you - try again?"

"For another child?" Alex nodded. "No. Not now we know that babies have died on both sides of my family. If Constanza could die, then so might another. We have managed to survive her loss, but we could not endure it if it were to happen again."

_Not only that, but if you were to lose another child, the prosecutors would have a field day with statistical evidence. I remember a few tragic miscarriages of justice in my own time._

"We hope that, in Spain, we may be able to adopt a child," Juanita continued.

"I hope you may," Alex said softly. "A child that needs and deserves all the love you can give it. " She stared straight ahead of her, at nothingness.

Juanita stole a hand into hers. "I am so sorry for your loss," she said gently. "We are sisters in misfortune, you and I."

"I should have been with her," Alex muttered. "I shouldn't have sent her home that day. Now I've lost her for ever. She's so far away that I couldn't even see her through the biggest giantest telescope in the whole world."

"Do you truly believe that any action of yours caused your daughter's death?" said Juanita very seriously.

"Molly? B-but she's not - " Alex checked herself. _All I've told Gene is that she's gone, that I've lost her. What could be more natural than for him to think that means that she's died, and say that to Juanita?_

_She might as well be dead to me, as I am to her. We'll never see each other again. Let them think she's dead. It's easier for them to understand than the truth._

"Would she have lived, if you had been with her?" Juanita said gently.

For the first time, Alex thought back over the events of that fateful morning. _I answered the dispatch about the hostage situation at the Tate Modern. If I hadn't done that, and taken her on to school, I would still be in 2008 with her. But then Layton's hostage might have died, so might other bystanders, and all I would have known, was that I had those deaths on my conscience. _

_I told Molly to stay in the car. When she disobeyed me, everything followed from there. She gave Layton the chance to get away, and to get to the car and hide in it. _

_If I'd driven her home, he'd have taken us both hostages. We might both have been killed. By sending her away with Evan, I may have saved her life. And if either of us was responsible for our being separated like this, it wasn't me… it was Molly._

"I - I don't know," she conceded at last. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Just as I shall never know whether anything I did that night, may unwittingly have caused Constanza's death. I have asked myself so many times, did I feed her too late, was it because I set her to sleep on her stomach, should the room have been cooler, should I have removed her pillow? But the report says that she had an underlying illness that could have killed her anyway. It is not possible to know what actually caused her death. Just as you cannot be certain whether your presence might have saved your daughter, your - Milly, was that the name?"

"Molly."

"Pardon me, Molly. A sweet name."

"I shall forget her." Alex's voice was a bleak as a Polar landscape. "I did before. I shall again. I'll forget her name, her face, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her voice, her favourite food, everything. It'll all slip away, like carrying a little water in a muslin bag."

"That I cannot believe. I have learned that there are some things we must forget, lest they drive us mad. We must not torment ourselves over what might have been, for it may destroy us and the people we love. Our duty to the dead must not outweigh our duty to the living. But those we have loved and lost will live on in our hearts, and we shall see them again."

"I wish I could believe that," Alex whispered.

"My faith is firm." Juanita's voice was serenely confident. "I know that my Constanza is in another world, and that one day I shall see her there. The time of waiting is long, but it must be endured. Your Molly waits there for you, too."

_Not yet. Not for many years, God willing. Maybe someday. _

"Yes…"

"We should remember them, and live our lives to the full, to celebrate theirs. We have to live for them, as well as for the living."

"Gene said something very like that," Alex said softly.

"Gene? The tall man who brought me here?"

"Yes. He's my Guv. My boss," she added, seeing Juanita's momentary confusion at the term.

Juanita smiled. "Rather more than a boss, I think."

"Yes," Alex admitted. "But what made you think that?"

"First, he has his own key to this flat, Second, I am not a detective, but I could not be in his company for two minutes without seeing that he loves you very, very much."

"He does. He's never said it, probably never will, but he does."

"And you?"

"Yes, I, I love him, but - "

"You feel that you should not? Because of Molly?"

Alex nodded slowly, looking at the ground. "Yes."

Juanita gently touched her cheek, turning her to face her. "Look at me, my dear. What I'm going to say is very important. Jonathan and I nearly broke up over Constanza's death. Not because we blamed each other, but because our grief was corrosive, like rust on metal. It was destroying us from within. We shut each other out. But that man Conroy's accusations forced us to come together, to fight him. We found new strength in each other and in our love. Perhaps I should thank Conroy after all. We have learned to live for each other. We can talk of Constanza now, and remember her with joy as well as sorrow. Jonathan has become my way back to life, as I am his. I can see that your Gene is your way back, if you choose to take it. To take him. If you know that you can entrust yourself to him, as Jonathan and I have entrusted ourselves to one another."

"Yes. Oh, yes. I know I can."

"He seems a good and kind man."

"He is." Alex smiled a little. "Although he would hate to hear anyone say so, and the criminal scum of London wouldn't agree."

Juanita laughed. It seemed so long since Alex had heard laughter. It was like the ringing of bells. She wanted to laugh, to live, to be happy, but a dark undertow of guilt and grief still dragged at her.

"It isn't the life I'd expected," she muttered sullenly, looking at the ground again.

"We must not reject the fortune we have, because it is less than we hoped." Juanita's voice seemed to blow like a gentle wind over her tormented mind. "We must make of it what we will, and strive always to better it. Believe me, I _know_ this."

Alex looked up at the woman who had suffered so much more than herself, and whose loss was even greater, but whose losses and sufferings had been transmuted into such serenity. She reached for her with a wrenching sob, and wept again, while Juanita held her and rocked her like the mother she had lost so long ago, and yet so recently. But she knew that now, she was not weeping to sink further into the pit of her despair. With these tears, she was beginning to let go.

It look a long time, but at last she was quiet. Juanita, with soft, sympathetic murmurs, fetched a bowl of water and bathed her face.

"Thank you." The words came out through sobs and hiccoughs. "Thank you so much for coming - for letting me talk to you and cry all over you - "

"I owe you everything," Juanita replied gravely. "If I have been able to help you in any way, I am glad of it. So glad."

_I feel different. Alive again. Just as I did when Gene found me in Mitchell's kitchen. It's_ _as though a huge weight is slowly being lifted off me. I'm coming back to life, just as she said._

She giggled. "Sorry, I'm a little light-headed. Haven't eaten much in days. Haven't wanted to." She glanced regretfully towards the stone cold foil container on the kitchen table, then back at Juanita, seized by an idea. "Do you have to go just yet?"

"No. Jonathan is at a meeting, and will not be home till six. He knows that I am here. I think he does not approve, but he knows that it is something that I need to do. And when I tell him what has happened here, I think he will be glad that I did."

"Can - can you wait while I shower and get changed, and come downstairs with me to have something to eat? There's a very good Italian restaurant downstairs, the owner's my landlord, CID eat there every night - "

"Of course I can. Take your time."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." She rose, suddenly realising how wobbly her legs felt, and staggered into the shower. She had been so neglectful of herself during the past fortnight that she had not even washed properly. Now she made up for it, standing under the warm shower, letting the hot rivulets of water thoroughly cleanse every part of her. She towelled herself dry vigorously, stirring the sluggish blood beneath the skin, and dried her hair. Passing through the living room on the way to the bedroom, she saw Juanita calmly drinking tea and watching television. That should have hurt, but somehow it didn't. It was just an ordinary television now. It would never transmit messages from the future again. There was no reason why a visitor should not watch it.

She put on her jeans and boots and one of her favourite blouses, added earrings and a necklace, and styled her hair. Makeup was more of a problem, but she did her best to conceal the ravages to her face from the past fortnight. She picked up her jacket and sallied forth. "Ready?"

Juanita switched off the TV and stood up. "Ready and waiting. Ah, that looks more like the Inspector I first met."

Alex shrugged into her jacket, feeling unsteady on her feet again, and lurched sideways. Juanita stepped forward to catch her arm and steady her. Suddenly she felt panicked. "I don't think I can do this."

"Of course you can." Juanita radiated calm certainty. "You are weak with hunger, nothing more. Take my arm, and I will help you down the stairs."

It was just gone 4.00, and the restaurant was all but deserted. Luigi was checking the tables before the evening rush started, and could not conceal his astonishment at seeing Alex. He hurried over to the two ladies.

"Signora Drake! It is so good to see you here again!"

She managed a smile. "Thank you, Luigi, and thank you so much to you and Maria for looking out for me over the past fortnight."

"It was my pleasure. What can I bring for you ladies? Will you take the corner table?"

Alex was able to laugh a little. "Gene'll go mad if he sees anyone else sitting there, but let him. Luigi, this is Juanita. She's a very good friend."

"Any friend of Signora Drake's is mine too." Luigi kissed Juanita's hand gallantly and shepherded the ladies to the corner table. "What do you require, ladies?"

"Delayed lunch, please." Alex passed Juanita a menu. "I'd better stick to fizzy water, my stomach's a bit sore. What about you, Juanita?"

"Red wine, please."

Alex grinned. "_Not_ the house rubbish, Luigi. Your best Rioja. Juanita, I can recommend the veal scallopine."

"Than I will have that, please. You, Alex?"

Alex looked rueful. "Not having eaten much in days, I'd better have the plainest thing on the menu."

Luigi looked sympathetic. "I will tell the kitchen. Fettucine in my most delicate white sauce, with parsley and small sprigs of broccoli."

"Sounds good to me."

-oO0Oo-

When Gene left CID at beer o'clock, he was deeply concerned that Juanita had not returned. He had not asked her to, but he had hoped that she might report back to him on her success or failure. It was possible that she had already left, but it was equally possible that she might still be in the flat, trying to talk to an unresponsive Alex. He resolved to look in at Luigi's before going up to the flat, in case she had been seen leaving.

His heart was heavy as he descended the stairs. He was almost at the foot of the flight before he realised that Luigi, standing behind the bar, all smiles, was trying to catch his eye and nodding towards the corner table. He followed the Italian's gaze, and saw Alex and Juanita, deep in conversation over a half-empty bottle of red and a virtually empty bottle of fizzy water. Alex still looked pale and tired beneath her makeup, but he could tell that she was more herself than she had been since her hallucination.

Alex saw him and waved to him, and he strode over to them.

"Afternoon, ladies. Daddy Bear 'ere. Who's been sitting in MY chair?"

"More like Goldilocks." Alex looked full of mischief.

"I will leave," Juanita said tactfully.

"Don't mind him, Juana. Daddy Bear is one of his call signs. He's more usually known as the Manc Lion or the Gene Genie. Pull up a chair and join us, Gene."

"Don't mind if I do." He helped himself to a chair and a glass from another table, and poured himself some wine.

"Treat that with respect, Gene. It's better than your usual house rubbish."

He swigged half a glass. "Bloody 'ell, you're right! Well, 'ow 'ave you two been managing, dancing round your 'andbags while I've been out ridding the city of criminal scum?" The deep care and concern in his eyes belied his words.

"Very well, thank you, Gene. Better than I've been in days." Her voice was full of meaning, and her hand reached out to clasp his beneath the table.

"Glad to 'ear it. Very glad."

Juanita glanced at her watch. "I am afraid I will have to go soon. Jonathan should be home in about forty-five minutes."

Alex reached across the table and grasped her hand. "Thank you so much for everything, Juana. Will you write to me, when you get to Spain?"

"Gladly." Juanita produced a business card from her handbag and handed it to Alex. "This will be our address in Alicante. We leave in ten days. I will write to you when we have arrived and unpacked."

Alex scribbled her address on a napkin. "And here is my address."

"Thank you." Juanita folded it and stowed it in her handbag like a precious document, and rose. The other two followed suit. Alex stepped around the table, hugged her, and kissed her cheek.

"Goodbye, Juana, and thank you again. Shaz, Chris's wife, believes in guardian angels. I think you're one of mine."

"Just as you and Mr Skelton are mine," Juanita said seriously. She leaned in to murmur in Alex's ear, "And another of yours is standing beside you."

"I know," Alex replied, letting her go. Juanita turned to Gene and shook his hand.

"Goodbye, Mr Hunt. Take good care of her."

"Will do."

Juanita looked from one to the other. "And if, at any time, you want a holiday home in Spain, or if in days to come you wish to retire there, please ask us. We will be glad to help you. A small return for all you have done for us."

Gene rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Dunno about that. Might be construed as police bribery an' corruption. What d'you think, Bols?"

Alex smiled. "Possibly. But we'll bear it in mind. I know it's always been your dream."

Juanita left, waving to them all the way up the stairs. When she was out of sight, they sat down.

"Thank you for bringing her to me." Suddenly Alex felt exhausted again. "It helped so much."

"She asked, I didn't ask 'er," Gene responded gruffly. It meant more to him that he could ever say, to see Alex starting to return to normal, but he was buggered if he was going to show his emotion in the restaurant. "I take it you've 'ad something to eat already?"

"Yes, with Juana." Alex was starting to feel dizzy. _It's a bit too much, too soon._

He looked at her closely. "Take it you'd like to clear out before the rabble arrive?" She nodded gratefully. "LUIGI! Ham an' mushroom pizza with extra parmesan, to go! We're off!"

-oO0Oo-

He swept her upstairs as soon as the take-away box arrived. While he was eating, she said suddenly, "Gene, I'm coming back to work tomorrow."

"Can't get enough, can you?" He was beaming with pride. "Seriously, Bols, do you think you should? Don't want some scum clopping you over the crust again because you're away with the little green men."

"You're _soooo_ sympathetic and supportive, aren't you?" she said with mock sarcasm. "All right, I'll accept it if you put me on desk duty for a week or so. But I want to come back. I've got to be doing something again. Can't stay alone here any longer."

He forbore to mention that she had been resisting any attempt to get her out of the flat for the past fortnight. "On one condition."

She looked wary. "Oh?"

"That you do _all_ my outstanding paperwork."

"God, you bastard. All right. It'll be one way of getting up to date with progress on current cases."

"Oh, no, you'll get full briefin' in top of that."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Swine."

"_And_ that I send you 'ome if you zonk out."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a hard taskmaster?"

He radiated satisfaction. Sam would have known that expression. "Famed for it. Did my apprenticeship crackin' the whip in Ben-Hur's galley. An' you should be goin' to bed. You might be in warpaint, but you've got bags under your eyes like Chi-Chi."

She looked at him. "On one condition."

"Eh?"

"Stay with me tonight." She looked close to tears. "I won't be any good, but I need you, I need you so much."

"Whoa, steady on!" He folded her in his arms. "'Course I will, Bols. 'Course I will."

He knew better than to try to make love to her. She was still too fragile, both emotionally and physically. He would have to deal with that for himself, later, just as he had had to do during the past fortnight. For now, knowing that she needed his presence and was comforted by it, would have to be enough.

Both remained awake for a long time. She lay with her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, while he held her securely. He sensed that she wanted to say something, but did not want to rush her.

For the first time since that dreadful night, she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth and strength of his body and the feel of his arms about her. _It's a start. Juana's right. He's my way back to life. I must make the most of what I have. _

_There was something else she said. I should remember Molly. Talk about her, and remember her with joy as well as sorrow._

"Gene?"

"Yes?" She felt him move against her in the darkness.

"Sorry, were you asleep?"

"No. You?"

"No."

He took the risk. "D'you want to talk?"

She hesitated, hearing his heart beat faster. "You don't know much about Molly, do you?"

"You never told me." His voice was awkward. "Didn't want to grill you."

"I didn't want to talk about it, before."

He recognised the invitation. "Do you now?"

"Yes. Please."

He drew her closer and kissed her hair. "Tell me."

So she told him, and as an endless stream of words poured forth in the darkness, he realised for the first time that the beautiful, fragile, damaged woman he loved was forever incomplete, because she had lost the child who was a part of her. He had only ever seen Molly as an indistinct apparition, and before that she had only been a name to him. Now he heard about the colour of her hair and eyes, the birthmark on her cheek, her favourite colour, her first steps, her first words, how she learned to read and write, her best subjects at school, her prowess on the netball court, her favourite pop groups, her courage and cleverness and cheekiness, her favourite food, the pet names and code phrases she and Alex had shared, the parrot she had wanted for her twelfth birthday, the cake they had baked together, how she had wanted to be a lawyer like her grandmother when she grew up. When Alex stopped at last, exhausted, her throat dry from talking, he felt that he knew Molly as well as if he had met her and known her for years.

"Wish I'd known 'er." He hated to hear how awkward his voice sounded. "Sounds like a right little chip off the Bolly block. Would 'ave been just like meeting you as a kid."

"Almost." _If only he knew._ "Oh, Gene, I'm so afraid."

"Of what?"

"I'm going to forget her. Everything about her. I'll lose it all." He could feel her tears spilling onto his chest.

"No, you won't. You've just told me, an' if you forget any of it, ask me, an' I'll remind you. We'll both remember." He held her close as she cried yet again, but he sensed that this was different to the tears she had shed over the past fortnight. _She's_ _saying goodbye._

-oO0Oo-

The following day, Alex walked into CID at Gene's side, pale, fragile, but determined. As one, the assembled cops stood to applaud her, saluting her courage. Of course that reduced her to tears before she even reached her desk, as did Chris's instant offer of a cup of tea and Ray crossing the office to shake her hand, but after that, warned by ferocious glares from Gene, the team left her alone. At first, she was convinced that she would never get to grips with the pile of new cases which Gene passed to her, but gradually she found herself easing back into the rhythm of work. It was going to be the best way of dulling the pain. To her surprise, Gene left the office in the middle of the day without saying where he was going, but as he returned soon afterwards, she assumed that he had been to see the Super.

She and Gene joined the gang at Luigi's for a meal and a drink, but left early. He knew that she was in danger of overtaxing her strength. When they got through the door of the flat, he pulled a large, flat paper bag from his coat pocket and pushed it into her hands.

"For you."

She looked inside. It contained an A4 book with blank pages, bound in dark blue stamped with gilt, and a felt tip pen. She looked at him questioningly.

"Got it in Booksmith at lunchtime. This is your memory book. You can write in it all the things you were tellin' me last night, an' everything else you didn't tell me then. Everything you remember about Molly, you write in 'ere. If you've got any photos of 'er, or of places you an' she 'ave been, you can stick 'em in. Then if ever you're scared you'll forget any of it, you can look in the book, an' that'll remind you."

She stared at him, open-mouthed. For a terrible moment, he thought he had done the wrong thing. Then she dropped the bag, and flung her arms around his neck.

"Gene Hunt, has anyone ever told you what an exceptional, amazing man you are?"

He hugged her back and grinned into her hair.

"Constantly, Bols. _Constantly_."

**TBC**


	6. Murder

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. Unfortunately.**

**Thank you once again to everyone who's taken the trouble to read, review, alert and fave. Or any of the above. Please keep the comments coming, I always want to improve!**

**This is the last completed chapter I have in reserve. I hope very much to finish the next chapter in time for next weekend, but I apologise in advance if I make you wait any longer. Series 3 is naturally occupying quite a lot of my brain cells at present. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Gradually, Alex's strength increased until Gene felt that he could, with a clear conscience, return her to a full range of duties. She promptly repaid his confidence by kneeing a fleeing suspect in the crown jewels during a night club raid. _Nothing wrong there._ Her emotional and mental health was another matter. Outwardly, she appeared to be normal. She was as active, sparky and intelligent as ever, and he was positively relieved when they had their first row after her return to work. It was a good one, too, ending with her slamming his office door so hard that all the glass panes had rattled, him kicking a waste paper bin so hard that it could never stand upright again, and Old Castle sending in a polite request for them to argue more quietly next time. But in the privacy of the flat, he could see what the façade of normality cost her. She tried to pretend, even for him, but he could see the aching pain and emptiness beneath. On some days she seemed to be almost normal, but on others her eyes were dull and empty and it was an effort even for her to get out of bed. Juanita's visit had started the healing process, but Annie had warned him that it would take time. He accepted that. He knew how long it had taken him even to begin to get over Stu's and Sam's deaths, and he doubted whether Annie would ever really recover from losing Sam. What was clear was that, even when Alex clammed up and broke away to grieve by herself, she needed him, and he was determined to be there for her, however long it took. The one real improvement was that her nightmares had almost disappeared. He dared not ask her why, but guessed that they had been largely related to her previous inability to accept the loss of Molly. But there were still times when he heard her crying quietly in the night, and strove to comfort her as best he could.

They started making love again, a couple of nights after her return to CID, but whereas before, their union had been so intense that he had felt as though they must understand each others' thoughts, almost that they _were_ each other, now, while she lay in his arms, he felt as though she were so far away from him, that she might as well be on a different planet. The frustration nearly drove him mad. Yet he knew that he could no sooner abandon her in her need, than he could give a bank blagger his gun and leave the vault open.

She spent a lot of time writing in her memory book and even more time reading, and crying, over what she had written. Sometime he wondered whether he had been wise to give it to her. Its existence did much to keep her sorrow fresh. But he knew how much it meant to her, and could only hope that it would help her. She wrote regularly to Juanita, and seemed more peaceful after reading letters from her new friend.

He thought much about what Annie had said about Sam. _Sam said that he was from the future, once. When we nailed Crane. Used it to get that bastard into the funny farm. Bolly knew Sam, but how? It was after he joined the team, as he'd told her about all of us. She was his psychologist. _

_He must have been on leave when he met Bolly. But his only holidays while he was with me, were his honeymoon and his annual holiday with Annie. But Annie doesn't know her, she's never met her, Sam had said nothing about her. Why? Did Sam and Bolly have one of these shared delusions about the future? If that's right, when did they meet up?_

It was more than his mind could cope with, especially while he was so worried about Alex. _Some day, when she's back to normal, maybe I'll try and get her to talk about it. But not now. _

One additional source of anxiety which he could not confess to Alex, was Summers's prediction that Tammy would die in September. All through that month, Gene was like a cat on hot bricks every morning until Chris strolled into the office, and again every time Chris's phone rang during the day. At midnight on 30 September he got as plastered as a wall to celebrate, and a mystified Alex had to leave him to sleep off his bender on the sofa. The following morning, the pain of his hangover made the sound of Alex's slippers on her bedroom rug sound like a herd of elephants, but he felt exultant.

_Gotcha, Summers, you bastard. The first of October, and Tammy's alive. Gotcha!_

The second week of October was ushered in by a complex murder case. Gene and the team were summoned to a modest terraced house in Bermondsey, whose sole occupant, a 73-year-old widow named Emily Maitland, had been found dead in the hallway with the back of her skull stove in.

"Postman called the police," Gene informed the team as the Quattro hurtled through the morning traffic. "Knocked at 'er door, didn't get a reply, bent down to look through the letterbox, an' saw blood seeping under the door. Plod got the door open an' found 'er dead in the hall."

"Any signs of forced entry?" said Chris.

"That's for us to find out." Gene took a corner on one wheel.

"If we live till we get there," Alex said acidly.

The Quattro screamed to a halt outside the house, brakes pleading for mercy, and the team spilled out. Plod were doing an ineffectual job of keeping onlookers back.

"For God's sake!" Gene roared, striding through the crowd. "We're 'ere to do the job of finding out who killed this defenceless old bird. We do NOT need the crime scene contaminated by every Tom, Dick an' bleedin' 'Arry in South London! MOVE 'EM BACK! Chris, talk to 'em. See if we've got any witnesses who might 'ave seen the killer arrive or leave. Go to the neighbours. Ray, take plod an' get round the back to check for forced entry. Bolly, with me."

In the hallway, the pathologist was already examining the body. "Poor old girl. At least it'll have been quick. One blow to the back of the head with a blunt object."

"Any idea what?" Gene snapped.

"Something wooden, probably a baseball bat or cricket bat. There are splinters of wood in the wound, but the shape of it suggests a bat rather than a rough plank. If the murder weapon still exists, it'll be contaminated with blood and hair."

"Right. Any idea 'ow long she's been dead?"

"Given the temperatures last night and this morning, I'd say since late yesterday evening. Eleven to midnight or so."

"An' the way she fell, she must 'ave been facing the front door at the time."

"Yes, and the blow was near the top of her head, at the back, so she was hit by someone taller than herself. Given that she stood five feet nine, that lets out anyone smaller than yourself, Mr Hunt."

"Thanks for the character reference. Get photos an' take 'er to the morgue at your convenience. Bols, we'll check the 'ouse. Where the hell's Ray?"

Right on cue, Ray joined them. "No way anyone could get in through the back, Guv. It's done up like Alcatraz. Burt Lancaster 'imself would've spent all night in the rain. Never seen so many locks an' bars on an ordinary terraced house."

"Why would that be?" Alex wondered. "Was she scared of break-ins? We'll have to check whether there are especially high burglary rates in this area. If not, maybe she was frightened of someone. Or perhaps all the locks were left by the last owner and she retained them. We'll have to see how long she's been living here."

"Leave the theorising 'til we're back at Fenchurch, or we'll run out of donkeys for you to talk the 'ind legs off," Gene said testily, sweeping into the living room. It looked neat and tidy, laden with knick-knacks, the antimacassars on the armchairs perfectly placed, every item and surface dusted and polished. Just like countless other living rooms belonging to harmless old ladies whom Gene had visited in the course of enquiries. Except that this old lady was on her way to the morgue.

"No sign of a struggle 'ere," he noted unnecessarily. "We'll get Forensics to check for prints."

It was the same story in the small kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom. When Gene opened the door to the second upstairs room. they expected to find a spare bedroom, or maybe a box room. To their astonishment, it was set up as a study, with a handsome double-pedestal wooden desk, a leather chair, and a large bookcase containing rows and rows of ledgers.

"What the hell did she want with all this lot?" Ray said, looking around the room as though expecting clues to jump out of the walls.

"Maybe she'd gone into business selling crochet," Gene said nastily.

"What, like the Hell's Grannies? You know, the Monty Python sketch - "She started on the _crochet_. Now she can't do without it. Twenty balls of wool a day, sometimes. If she can't get the wool she gets violent. What can we do about it?" "

"That's enough, Ray." Alex took a ledger from the bottom shelf and opened it. "Just remember that someone died here."

"Yeah, but why an' how?" Gene slammed his balled fist into his palm. "No sign of forced entry, no sign of anyone but 'er _being_ 'ere, but someone gets in an' clunks 'er over the cauliflower while she was facing the front door. An' they must 'ave got in an' out through the front door 'cos every other door an' window's as tight as a virgin's chastity belt!"

"So she must 'ave known 'er attacker an' let 'em in," Ray added thoughtfully.

Alex looked up from the ledger. "Well, if it's any help, I think I've found a motive, Guv."

"Wassat?"

"All these ledgers are a meticulous record of loans, repayments, and interest charged at extortionate rates. Defaults marked in red ink. Emily Maitland was bookkeeper for a loan shark."

"What?" Ray was aghast. "Sweet old lady like that?"

Alex shrugged. "Good cover for an illegal operation. She was probably getting a cut for her trouble."

"Would explain why she was so anxious about 'er personal safety, too," Gene added drily. He tried the top drawer of the right hand pedestal, but, predictably, it was locked.

"Search warrant time - no. Bolly, look in the bedroom an' see if there are any hairpins."

"Wait a minute." Alex slipped past him, crossed the corridor to the bedroom, and returned a minute later with a handful of hairpins. "What do you want to do with these?"

"Haven't rubbed shoulders wi' the finest criminal brains in Manchester an' London without learning _some_ of the tricks of the trade." Gene took a sturdy hairpin from Alex, knelt in front of the desk, and started to pick the lock.

"I thought Gene Hunt didn't pick girly locks?" Alex said sceptically. "He kicks doors down."

"Evidence," Gene grunted unwillingly. _Sam must have told her about that too._

"Oh, well, if you can't beat them, join them." Alex started working on the left hand pedestal with another hairpin.

"Eh?" Gene stared at her. "An' 'ow come _you_ know all about breakin' an' enterin'?"

Alex grinned. "When I was at boarding school. The house mistress used to confiscate all the "unsuitable literature" and lock it in her desk." She waggled her fingers. "I used to pick the lock and read it under the blankets by torchlight after Lights Out."

She proved her point by opening her lock before Gene had mastered his.

"Never knew you were so 'andy with bits of bent wire," Gene observed approvingly. "Care to spring my tumblers sometime?"

"I'll hold you to that."

"Oh, _do._" Gene's voice dripped with sex, and Ray blushed to the roots of his curls.

"It's a date." Alex tried to open the drawer, but the whole front of the unit swung away to reveal a substantial safe.

"Oh, bloody 'ell!"

"Not just bookkeeper, but banker too," Alex observed coolly. "She and her employer probably memorised the combination."

"Yeah, motive for murder. But unless the killer 'ad a key an' knew the combination too, they killed 'er an' left without the cash. _Why_?"

Ray was looking at a ledger. "Last few pages 'ave been torn out of this one."

Alex looked over his shoulder. "What dates?"

"Last six weeks or so. This is the latest volume. There's blank pages after the bit that's been torn out."

"_Motive_," Gene said heavily. "The killer wants their debt off the record. They get in 'ere, get the pages, she finds 'em and gets clocked while she's tryin' to raise the alarm. Or the killer gets in to do 'er an' _then_ takes the pages and leaves at their leisure."

"Whoever it is, they'd be covered in blood," Alex said soberly. "_Someone_ must have seen."

"If someone did, it'll make our job easier," Gene acknowledged. "But don't count in it. If she was workin' for a shark, there'll be a lot of people who'd look the other way. It's equally possible that the shark she was working for decided to dispense with 'er services, without a payoff. We'll 'ave to get everything in this room checked for prints. That includes that ledger, so put it _down_, Ray. If the killer took the pages, 'is prints'll be on it. If the desk's full of wonga, we'll 'ave to get plod to keep guard 'til we can get someone to crack the combination an' empty it." He looked hopefully at Alex, who shrugged.

"Sorry, Guv. My prowess only extends to picking locks with hairpins. You'll need a professional for that safe."

"We'll get Smiler Wraysford out of Wandsworth if we 'ave to," Gene went on. "He'll crack it if cops can't. We'll need every snout an' grass in South London primed for this one. I want the name of the shark she worked for. Then I want 'is 'ead on a plate. Pickled. With an apple in 'is mouth."

As he spoke, he finally opened the other lock. The top drawer yielded a smaller ledger, which recorded on a daily basis, the amounts of money leaving and entering the safe. The other drawers merely contained pens, pencils and stationery items.

Gene waved the small ledger. "We'll 'ave to check the amount in 'ere against the amount in the safe. That'll show us if the murderer took any cash."

"If the killer could pick locks too, they might 'ave taken some money an' changed the amount in the small ledger," Ray pointed out.

Gene turned to the last page. "Not unless we've got a master forger too. Last entry's in the same writing an' ink as all the others."

Chris came trotting up the stairs, big with important news. "Guv, you are never going to believe this. I've been talking to the bystanders and neighbours. Emily Maitland was a vicious old cow. She was the local loan shark. She lent out cash at extortionate rates and extracted payments with menaces!"

"_EH?_"

"This is her office. We've found her safe and all her records," Alex said uncertainly. "But surely she was working for someone else?"

"Not according to the neighbours," Chris informed her proudly. "I've been talking to one of 'er customers, and he's given me the names and addresses of some more. It was her operation."

"But 'ow the 'ell did an old bird like that get money with menaces?" Gene demanded. "Threaten to floor 'em with 'er zimmer frame?"

"Neighbours say she'd got enforcement. Her nephew. They only know 'im as Big Ron. Bloke made of breezeblocks."

"RIGHT!" Gene took charge. "Chris, give me the names an' addresses of the people you've spoken to. Get plod to mount a 24-hour guard on this 'ouse and tell 'em not to let _anyone_ in 'ere without my permission unless they want their monkey nuts chopped off an' dispatched to Timbuktu by first class post. Tell 'em to look out for Big Ron an' grab 'im if 'e shows up. Get Forensics to go over this place. We need signs of anyone other than Emily being in' ere, where they were an' what they touched. Fingerprint _everything_. Once the safe's been fingerprinted, get someone who can open it without damage. Get a lag out of Wandsworth or the Scrubs if you 'ave to. Tell 'em they'll get time off for good behaviour if they 'elp the police. Ray, get back to the station an' get the team to grill their snouts like a Bonfire Night barbecue. Check the records to see whether Emily was licensed as a money lender. I'll bet my last bottle of single malt she wasn't. This was an illegal operation. Send Terry an' Poirot out 'ere to get statements from the postie who found the body an' all the neighbours. Get Terry to find out who the next of kin is an' have 'em informed. Then start organising publicity. If any of 'er clients goes public, we'll 'ave journos all over this one like rats in a dustbin. Once the pathologist's confirmed the time of death, we'll need a public appeal for witnesses."

"Roger that, Guv. Police Five?"

"Over my dead body. BBC News an' ITV News at Ten. Bolly, with me."

Alex wondered whether Gene's insistence on keeping her with him, stemmed from his protectiveness. She might be better qualified than Ray at sorting out the publicity. On the other hand, if they were going to talk to Emily's clients and victims, she would be better placed to offer sympathy and coax their stories from them.

Their first port of call were the neighbours on the right hand side of the house. Mr and Mrs Harris were a pleasant couple in their late sixties who insisted on providing tea and Garibaldis for their visitors, thereby winning Gene's heart.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to give you much help," Mr Harris said apologetically. "We knew what Emily was up to and had as little to do with her as possible. The walls are thick, so we wouldn't have heard if anyone knocked at her door, unless they actually battered it down. And we had the TV on last night."

Gene dunked his Garibaldi reflectively. "Do you know if she 'ad any regular visitors? Family?"

"Only that nephew of hers," Mrs Harris said with a shudder. "Big, nasty brute. I used to notice people knocking at her door every so often, but without recognising anyone. Probably people who wanted a loan. Didn't know what they were getting themselves into."

"Do you know how she got into the loans business?" Alex asked. "It's not exactly a usual occupation for an old lady."

Mr Harris shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. As I said, we had as little to do with her as possible. She was a spiteful piece of work. You might find out more from some of her victims."

Gene finished his tea. "You mean clients?"

"No, victims."

The Harrises were able to confirm that the neighbours on the other side had been away all week, so Gene and Alex went on to visit Emily's clients. The first, Dora Laker, was a pretty, placid lady of around seventy who did not seem surprised to learn of their errand.

"Always thought she'd come to a bad end, if you ask me," she said tartly, as all three sat in her living room. "Poison Emily."

"Do you know how she started her business?" Alex asked.

"Oh, yes. I was one of her first customers, may I be forgiven. She got quite a sizeable life insurance payoff when her husband died. William, a nice man. I don't think she'd ever had so much money before, and it made her feel powerful. She and I go - _went_ - to a Pensioners' Tuesday Club at the Community Hall. Some of us at the Club were better off than others. She got into the habit of lending out sums of money to those who needed it. It was strictly against the rules of the Club, of course, so all the transactions were done at her house. To start with she only charged quite nominal rates. Fortunately for me, when I borrowed £100 for a holiday, she only charged me 10% and I had a realistic amount of time in which to pay it back. Then she realised she was on to a good thing. She lured people in by giving them good rates to start with but very short repayment times, and if they failed to repay in full, the rates went up, whoosh! And she got that ghastly nephew of hers to make sure they paid. Luckily I'd paid her off by that time and had the sense to steer well clear of her thereafter. I even stopped going to the Club to keep away from her."

"But didn't anyone realise that what she was doing was illegal?"

"Miss Drake, you and your friend are a different generation to mine. We have a profound horror of being in debt. It's a social stigma like no other. Nobody was going to complain that they'd got themselves into debt and couldn't get out. They'd feel that they only had themselves to blame for not controlling their expenditure. I just blame myself for not telling anyone. I got out unscathed and sat on the fence while she ruined lives. I daresay I'll pay for it some day."

"Ruined?" Gene questioned.

"I'm afraid so. You'll find people with sad stories to tell. We all knew and kept quiet. That is our collective guilt."

Their next visit was to Mavis Kay, whose name and address had been proffered by one of Chris's witnesses. She was a tiny, wizened, bespectacled lady, leaning heavily on a Zimmer frame, who looked terrified when Gene loomed up on her doorstep.

"Morning, love. Sorry to trouble you. Gene Hunt an' Alex Drake, CID." He showed his warrant card. "Wondered if you could 'elp us. You'll probably know, there was a murder near 'ere last night."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "I didn't do anything! I swear I didn't! I was here all night! Oh, please, don't take me away!"

"We don't intend to," Alex said gently. "We need some information about the dead lady, and we understand that you had business dealings with her. That's all."

Mrs Kay seemed to crumple, and Gene caught her and carried her into her living room. It was bitterly cold and dark, and contained hardly any furniture.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols, I always thought you were skinny, but there's not enough meat on this one for a vegetarians' convention. Get 'er some water."

When Alex returned with it, Mrs Kay was sitting on her sofa, clinging to Gene and crying as if her heart would break. Alex handed him the glass, muttering, "Hardly any food in the kitchen, cooker looks as though it hasn't been used in weeks."

"I'm so sorry, sir," Mrs Kay wailed. "When I first saw you there, I thought she'd sent you to get more money from me, and I've nothing left, nothing…"

"S'all right, love. Take your time. Need any pills?" She shook her head, and he gave her the glass of water. "There, there. Get that inside you."

She took the glass, and Gene nodded to Alex to turn the electric fire on. "NO! Don't do that! I can't afford it, can't afford it, can't afford it…" She dropped the glass in her terror, it shattered on the tiles, and she gave way to hysterical sobs again.

"Sorry, love." Gene reached for his wallet and extracted a £5 note. "Don't worry, this isn't charity. The fact is, my esteemed lady colleague 'ere has a nasty cold, an' the doctor's advised 'er to keep warm. So if you'll let us pay to turn on one bar of the fire, so's she can continue to serve the public, we'd both be very grateful."

She nodded, still clinging to him, and Alex ferreted out a dustpan and brush from the broom cupboard and swept up the broken glass. When she returned, Gene had stripped off his overcoat and wrapped it around the weeping woman. He motioned her closer, passed her the car keys, and muttered, "Bolly, there's a rug in the boot of the Quattro." She crept out and returned with it, and Gene retrieved his coat and swathed Mrs Kay in the warm rug.

"There. Better?"

She snuggled appreciatively into the rug. "I don't know the last time I was warm." Her voice was high and quavery. "You said you're police. You must be guardian angels."

"Nope, just a couple of bad cops, I'm afraid. We can come back, if you don't feel you can talk now."

She looked afraid again. "Wh-what do you want me to tell you?"

"You know that Emily Maitland was murdered last night?" Alex said gently.

"Yes, Mr Shah looked in and told me."

"Yeah, 'e was talkin' to one of our officers an' gave us your name." Gene could not have sounded kinder.

"We need to find out who killed her," Alex went on. "We don't know much about her yet. We need background, and to get that we're talking to people who knew her."

"I knew her. Oh, yes. She made me regret the day I was born."

"Go on, love," Gene said quietly.

"My immersion heater broke down, and I couldn't afford to have it repaired. I only have my pension, you see. I asked around at the Tuesday Club to see if anyone knew of a repairer who'd let me pay by instalments. Emily said that she could do better than that for me. She'd lend me £50 for the repair, and I could pay it back at £5 a week, with £2.50 interest. I judged that I could manage that from my pension. I got the repair done and paid back the first three weeks' worth on time.

"Then I had a fall and was in hospital for a fortnight. Of course, I didn't draw my pension while I was in hospital, and as I live alone nobody did it for me. As soon as I got home again, I drew the arrears of my pension and went round to Emily to pay her a fortnight's money. But she said that I'd broken the terms of the agreement by not paying every week, and that meant that the whole of the sum was now due. I told her I was sorry, I couldn't help having been in hospital, and I couldn't afford to pay all the rest at once. She said that not only was the capital due, but that every week, the interest on the capital _and_ the interest would double, until I paid in full. That meant that for the first week I'd been in hospital, I now owed £67.50, and for the second week, £135. And it's gone on doubling every week since. She said that she'd take whatever I could pay, but that the interest on the balance will go on doubling until I've settled in full."

Her voice dropped lower. "The next evening, she and her nephew came here. I opened the door and they pushed their way in. She said that she had the right to take anything that she could sell to help pay my debt. She held me down while he went round the house. He took all the money I had, the pictures and ornaments, the TV and radio, my engagement ring and my husband's gold cuff links. She even tore the wedding ring from my finger and the gold crucifix from my neck, though I begged her not to. Two days later she told me that she'd sold them all for £30." She turned tear-filled eyes to Gene. "£30! The cuff links alone were worth more. The last thing I gave to my husband.

"Since then, whenever I go to collect my pension, they've been waiting for me when I get home. They've taken the money from me, counted it, and given me £5 a week to live on. I haven't starved because I get the meals on wheels, but I have to eat them cold because I can't afford to turn on the stove to heat them up. I have to sit in the dark and I can't turn the heating on. I know the electricity will be cut off when the next bill's due, because I won't be able to pay it. But what I give her still isn't enough because it doubles every week. It's more than £1,000 now, I'll never be able to pay it, never!" She broke down in tears again, and Gene took her in his arms.

"Well, she'll never be able to take money from you again, because she's dead. Don't know who'll inherit, but they'll find out from me that takin' money with menaces is a criminal offence. Try not to cry, love, the Genie's on the case. Now, can you tell us one thing - this nephew, do you know 'is name?"

Mrs Kay looked dubious. "She just called him Ron, but I don't think his surname's Maitland."

"Ta, that'll 'elp."

She clasped her hands. "But I was alone last night. How can I prove to you that I didn't do it? I've wanted her dead so many times, and myself, may God forgive me, but I swear to you I didn't kill her."

Gene smiled reassuringly "S'okay, we know you didn't. 'Fraid we've got to go now. More witnesses to talk to. Take care of yourself, love." He rose as he spoke, and swept Alex out of the house ahead of him. They dived straight into the Quattro, and his key was already in the ignition when Mrs Kay appeared at the door.

"But, sir, your rug!"

He waved a negligent hand. "Never liked the colour. Keep it, love. I've got another that matches the car." The Quattro took off before she could reply.

As they bowled along the road, Alex laid gentle fingers on his sleeve, and her eyes glowed with approval.

"_Don't_, Bolly." His face was like granite and his eyes were flinty.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say what you were going to say. You'll 'ave me blushing."

She smiled fondly. "OK. Where next?"

"I want a word with the other customer Chris found. Mr Shah."

Mr Shah ran a small tobacconist's a few streets away. His story was nearly as tragic as Mrs Kay's.

"Last summer I wanted to start selling ices. I needed a freezer cabinet, but the shop's turnover wasn't big enough for the bank to give me a loan. I'd heard about Mrs Maitland and asked if she could loan me £100. I had to pay back £10 a week plus £5 a week interest. But after a fortnight, she demanded repayment of the full amount right away. I hadn't looked at the small print before signing her agreement. It gave the lender the right to vary the loan period and penalties for non-payment. I told her that I couldn't repay the whole sum at once but that I'd do my best. She hiked the interest to 500%.

"The next day, my daughter Ahila was in tears because she could not find her favourite doll. That evening the shop window was broken. I found a brick which had been thrown through the window with the burnt remains of Ahila's doll tied to it. After that I was terrified that if I didn't pay up, Mrs Maitland and her nephew would have the shop and our flat above it burnt down. I could not risk the safety of my family. Luckily insurance paid for the window and the damage to the shop, but I had to send the freezer back, cancel orders for stock, and remortgage the shop to clear the debt. Now I have to struggle to find enough money to keep the shop going and feed my family, and all the time I am afraid that she and her nephew will come back demanding more."

"Didn't you tell the police about the attack?" Gene said thoughtfully.

"Yes, but they said that it was the work of racists. I am sure it was Mrs Maitland and her nephew."

"I 'adn't 'eard about it. Which station did you report it to?"

"The one in Kennington Lane. But they were not interested. They did not even take the brick or the doll for examination, although I have preserved them most carefully."

"Only a few streets away from Mrs Maitland, but outside our patch," Alex murmured to Gene.

"Sod that. Mr Shah, will you let us 'ave the brick an' the doll? I'll pass 'em to our forensic team."

"With pleasure." Mr Shah went into the back of the shop and returned with a large plastic carrier bag. "They are in here. I am afraid you will find my fingerprints on the brick. I picked it up without thinking that it would be evidence."

"We'll bear that in mind. Thanks for your time, Mr Shah."

When they got back into the Quattro, Alex could see that Gene was deep in thought. He sat there for a couple of minutes, his head bowed, then raised his head and turned to Alex.

"Bolly, why are we doing this?"

"Because, as you once reminded me, you're one of the good guys, and I'm one of us," Alex said gently.

"Yeah. But then I think of Emily, counting 'er ill-gotten gains in that snug office, an' then of Mrs Kay, hungry an' crying in the cold an' dark, an' Mr Shah, trying to protect 'is family an' afraid 'e won't be able to feed 'is kids. An' then I think of Chris. I've never known the details of the loan that got 'im in the shit. He never told me, an' I didn't ask. Whole business made me sick to my stomach. But what if e'd got into the clutches of some bloodsucker like Emily, who was goin' to destroy 'is life if 'e didn't pay? Damned if 'e did, damned if 'e didn't. Makes me think we should be giving 'er killer a pat on the head when we find 'em, not cuffing 'em."

"Murder is the most terrible of crimes, and yet in many ways the most understandable," Alex said gravely.

"Most sensible bit of psycho-bollocks I've 'eard you spout yet."

"But never excusable."

He sighed. "Yeah. Right on. I_ wanted_ to kill my Dad enough times, but doesn't mean I'd ever have done it."

"And at least we know that neither of the people we've spoken to have done it."

He regarded her beadily. "What makes you say that?"

She looked smug. "Neither is tall enough."

"Top of the class, Miss Marple. My money's on Big Ron."

Alex looked dubious. "If he has half a brain, he'll have worked out that Emily's operation was illegal, and the very last thing he'd have wanted was to attract enough attention to get the police involved."

"Number one, we need to know if any money's missing from the safe. If anyone else knew the combination, it'll 'ave been 'im. Number two, Terry's finding 'er next of kin. If Ron inherits, 'e may 'ave thought it worthwhile to knock 'er off an' get the dough before someone complained about 'er sharking an' the police moved in. Specially if 'e's like Tiny Tim Rivens, with muscles everywhere but 'is brain."

"But why would he take the pages from the ledger?"

"To send us off on a wild goose chase for one of 'er clients."

"Not good enough. Without the pages, we don't know who her clients were in the weeks leading up to her death."

Gene looked disgusted. "Why do you always 'ave to go an' _complicate_ things?"

Before Alex could reply, the radio crackled into life. "Guv? Viv here. Plod guarding Emily Maitland's house have got someone who turned up there demanding admittance and claiming to be her nephew. Name of Ronald Saunders. Sounds like Chris's Breezeblock Man."

"Bring 'im in!"

"Roger that, Guv. Terry's found out that Saunders is the next of kin. Her sister's only child. She didn't have any children, and her sister and brother-in-law are both dead."

"Good work. Tell Terry I owe 'im a bottle of 'ouse rubbish."

"Rather him than me, Guv. And the pathologist wants a word when you get back."

"On our way!" He flung the radio into the glove box and started the ignition, and the Quattro touched the ground in places on the way back to Fenchurch East.

-oO0Oo-

"Pardon me for bothering you, DCI Hunt, but DS Skelton mentioned that uniform had just arrested a suspect, and I thought it best to give you my latest findings before you - er - spoke to him."

They were standing in the mortuary. The location did nothing to lengthen Gene's temper.

"So, what 'ave you got, Mr Bones?"

"First, the time of death. The state of the body led me to believe that my first supposition of between eleven and midnight is correct. But in addition there was a broken watch on her wrist. Looks as though the glass smashed when she fell. It says eleven-forty."

"The killer might have altered and broken it after she was dead," Alex said dubiously. Gene gave her his _Don't-spoil-my-fun_ look.

"Quite so," the pathologist said smoothly. "To mislead the police. However, it _does_ agree with the time of death, so it may be an accurate clue."

Gene's face said _Told you so._ "Right. Anything else?"

"Yes. Sleeping tablets, ingested, I should say, about half an hour before death, along with a cup of tea. She'd have been fairly dopey at the time she made for the front door with her attacker behind her. There weren't any sleeping pills or empty packaging in the house, which suggests that they were administered by her assailant."

"Another Mickey Finn." Gene looked disgusted. "Wouldn't 'ave stood a chance. Right, ta very much, Bones. We're off to talk to our suspect."

Big Ron Saunders was the kind of bully whom Gene despised most, one who threatened those unable to fight back but caved in like a frightened puppy when faced with anyone stronger than himself. He sat in Interview Room 1, chainsmoking, with tears running down his face, and shrank away, whimpering, when Gene and Alex walked into the room.

"I don't know why I'm 'ere! I've done nothing wrong! I went to visit my auntie and found she was dead, and now I'm being accused of murdering her! I want a lawyer!"

"Just for now, mate, you'll 'ave to make do with the two of us." Gene stopped to light a fag, letting the click of his lighter and the sound of the smoke leaving his mouth leach into the silence of the room, punctuated only by Ron's sobs. "Right. Now you can start talking."

"But I've done nothing wrong!"

Gene slammed his fist on the table, and Ron jumped. "Let me remind you, Sunshine, that when Gene Hunt became a DCI it was still a criminal offence to demand money with menaces!"

"I never done that! I just wanted to see my auntie!"

"Yeah, your auntie was the local loan shark an' you were 'er enforcer!"

"That wasn't me! It was someone else!"

"_WHO_?" Gene leaned across the table until his face was only inches away from Ron's.

"She employed someone who pretended to be me!"

"We can test that very easily," Alex interjected. "We have a number of statements from Mrs Maitland's clients, who have complained about intimidation from you and your aunt. We can set up an identity parade."

Ron subsided into whimpers. "She used to lend money to people. I went round with her when she was collecting. Dangerous for an old lady to be out on 'er own at night."

"Bloody dangerous to be one of 'er clients, too!"

"It was her money! Why shouldn't she have what was hers?"

"What was 'ers was what she bloody well chose to take!" Gene blazed. "From the old, the scared, an' the vulnerable. She was a vulture an' you were 'er gorilla. Which is why the Manc Lion's got you now!"

"Animal Crackers," Alex murmured.

Gene shot her a Death Laser glance before turning the full force of his glare back on Ron. "I put it to you, Ronnie, that you knew Auntie was over-reachin' herself. That sooner or later, one of 'er victims would call in the cops an' you an' she would lose the lot. You went to 'er last night an' told 'er to cool it. She refused. An' that was why you dotted 'er over the crumpet!"

"_NO_!" Ron had stopped whimpering, and simply stared at Gene, shocked and still. It was his stillness which most impressed Alex. _The crying was an act, but this is real. Something we've dragged from him._ "I never! I loved 'er!"

_In his own twisted way, he might have done,_ Gene's mind acknowledged. _Family's family._

"Can you prove where you were yesterday evening?" Alex said quietly.

"I was at the Working Mens' Club in Tooting. I go there a lot of evenings."

"When you weren't helping Auntie plunder the poor an' needy," Gene snarled. Alex motioned to him to be silent, and for once he subsided.

"I can give you the names and addresses of my mates who were there with me. Eddie Carter and Jim Needham. The barman knows me, he'll tell you when I arrived and when I left. You can ask anyone at the club and they'll tell you."

"When did you leave?" Alex demanded.

"Quarter to twelve. The club shuts at midnight and things were winding down. I drove Eddie home. He got out of the car at about five past midnight. I drove home on my own."

"We're keepin' you in custody while we check that out," Gene said briskly. "An' you'll be one lucky little boy if you get off without criminal charges for workin' for that harpy! Interview ended twelve forty-five." He strode to the door. "VIV! Make the little nephew nice an' comfy in the cells!"

-oO0Oo-

"If he's telling the truth about the time he left the club, that would put him out of the frame," Alex said as they shared a lunchtime sandwich in his office.

Gene shook his head. "Only by about an hour, an' the pathologist can't be _that_ exact. An' you were right, that watch might 'ave been broken to mislead us. An' 'e's tall enough to 'ave hit 'er. My money's still on 'im."

"And a Party Seven?"

Gene had the grace to blush. "Know about that one, do you? I like think we've come on a bit since. Sam saw to that."

"You have. Maybe more than you know."

Gene took the plunge. "How _did_ you know Sam?"

He saw a split second's hesitation. Guardedness.

"I told you long ago. I was his psychologist."

"Yes, but when? I know it was after 'e joined the team, because 'e told you about all of us, but we didn't meet you 'til you joined us in London."

"We corresponded, that was all. I never met him."

Alex's words had the ring of truth. _All the same, there's something more here. I mustn't push her for it now. One step at a time._

"But at present we don't have any evidence against Ron," Alex went on, "and unless we get any, we'll have to let him go. Do you know what impressed me most about him?"

"No, but I'm jealous already."

"First, he was utterly shocked by your suggestion that he'd killed her. He knew we had him bang to rights on intimidating her clients, but he hadn't expected to be a murder suspect. For me, that was the one time he wasn't acting."

Gene grunted non-commitally. "An' the second?"

"He didn't seem at all worried about what happens to the money. To me, that means that if he _did_ kill her, it wasn't to inherit."

"He won't anyway, I'll see to that. I'll recommend a confiscation order _an_' a restitution order to repay 'er victims."

"I thought you would."

"I hesitate to ask why."

She smiled and laid her hand on his sleeve. "Because you're a good, kind, decent man."

**TBC**


	7. Tip Off

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. Alas.**

**Sorry about the fortnight's gap, everyone - this chapter is very long and some parts of it have been difficult to write. **

**Sorry not to have reviewed anyone else's fics lately, but I've had to give priority to this chapter and an important music review. I promise to read and review all those tempting updates as soon as I can.**

**Thank you, once again, to all the lovely people who have been sticking with this saga and especially to my reviewers. Please let me know what you think of this latest instalment.**

**I have nearly finished the next chapter, and hope to post it next weekend. One more chapter to go after that, which isn't written yet!**

The next twenty-four hours were full of solid, painstaking work from the whole team. Ray spent the evening at the Tooting Progressive Working Mens' Club, collecting a string of statements from regulars who testified to having seen Ron there the previous evening and to his having departed at some time between 11.30 and midnight. Eddie Carter additionally testified that Ron had given him a lift home to his home in Merton Park, and had dropped him off around ten minutes after midnight. His wife corroborated the timing. Unless Ron's Ford Fiesta had an engine double the power of the Quattro, it seemed impossible that he could have got to Emily's house before about a quarter to one at the earliest.

Mark and Terry took statements from all of Emily's clients who could be identified from the ledgers. In addition, by dint of some forceful persuasion from Gene and Ray, and a sharp reminder from Alex that it would be in his best interests to co-operate with the police, Ron was induced to provide a list of the names and addresses of those whom he and Emily had "visited" during the period covered by the missing pages. Gene doubted whether it was complete, especially as there could have been some new clients during that time who had not been subjected to Ron's attentions. All those interviewed had similar stories to tell of harassment, intimidation and soaring interest rates. As the majority of them were frail, elderly pensioners, few could be considered as suspects for the murder, and none who lacked alibis were tall enough to have struck the fatal blow, but their statements provided valuable evidence in the case against Ron.

A Met technician managed to open the safe without damaging it, and was able to confirm that nobody had attempted to open it since it had last been locked. Chris had one of the most exciting hours of his career counting the cash. After three recounts, he reported that the amount was exactly as set down in the ledger. "It's accurate to a penny, Guv. Emily recorded exactly what was in there, every note, every coin. It's all present and correct."

"Which lets out the killer 'aving topped 'er to get their money back," Gene said disgustedly. Ron had sworn that he did not know the combination, but Gene had a strong suspicion that he was lying. The safe also contained a substantial amount of jewellery and other small valuables, including Mrs Kay's wedding ring, engagement ring, crucifix and gold cuff links, all kept in bags marked with the name of the debtor and neatly docketed in the ledgers.

"Doesn't look like she ever spent any of the money or sold any of the swag," Gene remarked to Alex. "She seems to 'ave been comfortably off. Dora Laker told us 'er old man had left 'er some money. Why the hell did she do this? Tormenting people and wrecking their lives, just to put more in the safe."

"Impossible to say, without knowing more about her background. Maybe she or her family had known financial hardship earlier in her life, and she had a compulsion to make and hoard money in case she needed it in the future. Think of Scarlett O'Hara in _Gone with the Wind._"

"Never seen it."

"Of course, too romantic for the Sheriff of Manchester. Or maybe, as Dora Laker said, it was all about power. I doubt we'll ever know now."

Ron was charged with intimidation, harassment, obtaining money with menaces, and aiding and abetting an unlicensed money lender. Much to Gene's delight, Ron was unable to raise the bail set by the judge and was languishing in custody.

The murder weapon could not be found, but several of Emily's clients who had visited the house testified that she had kept a baseball bat behind the front door to repel boarders. As it was not in the house, Gene concluded that it had been used to kill her and that the murderer had taken it away and, in all probability, destroyed it.

"Though 'ow someone could walk through the streets of Bermondsey at night carrying a soddin' big bat without attracting _some _attention, we 'ave yet to discover," he remarked to Alex and Ray.

"Probably hidden under a long coat," Alex observed.

"Oy, stop putting me in the frame!"

"Oh, no, I'm not. I can testify to where you were that night between eleven and midnight, and you were _very_ gainfully employed." She gave him a smouldering glance, and Ray looked the other way and coughed noisily.

The Forensics report was thorough but disappointing. The house had been checked meticulously, but the only fingerprints to be found were Emily's. Marks in several locations indicated that someone wearing gloves had touched a number of surfaces. Woollen fibres were found on an armchair and cushion, which matched a jumper in Ron's possession, but as Alex pointed out, they might have been deposited there any time he had been in the house on her business. There were no indications of any other person having been in the house. If Ron's alibi held good, they were looking for a murderer who had left no traces behind.

"Just what we need," Gene said bitterly, poring over the report. "A killer who knows 'is onions. Must 'ave been wearing gloves all the time 'e was in the house."

"And been wearing clothes which didn't leave fibres," Alex added despondently. "Probably a PVC mac."

"Pathologist says she was laced with sleeping pills," Ray observed. "Must 'ave drunk from something, but all the crockery was clean an' in the drainer. Killer must 'ave washed the cup or taken it away."

"My God." Alex stared at him. "Ray, you are brilliant. You've just given me an idea."

"_WHAT_?" Both men spoke together.

"The day the body was found, you went round the back of the house to check for signs of entry."

"So?" Gene was on his guard for another of her mad theories which would send them off on a wild goose chase.

"You said it was done up like Alcatraz and even Burt Lancaster would have spent all night in the rain."

"Yeah?" Ray looked puzzled.

"The report says the floors were clean apart from the bloodstains. No footprints."

"Bolly, _where is this leading_?"

"If the killer had arrived while it was raining, there would have been muddy footprints on the lino in the hall and damp and dirt in the doormat. That was a nasty evening, rain was threatening all the time. He must have entered the house before the rain started. Emily fell with her head on the doormat, so it can't have been cleaned after she was killed. He slipped her a Mickey, killed her, stayed around to wash the cup, remove any prints if he'd taken his gloves off at any point, and take the pages out of the ledger."

"Then he takes the bat an' leaves the house after the rain started, when it was later an' fewer people would be out of doors to see 'im. _Shit_. Blows the time of death wide open again."

"Or at least the time of arrival and departure. He could have stayed there for hours."

Gene turned to Chris. "Oy, Superman. Get on to the Met Office an' find out what time it started raining in South London that night."

A few minutes later, Chris had the answer. "They say it was dry until 10.50. Then it rained until 4.15 the following morning."

"Right, looks like our killer reached Emily's by 10.50. Have to widen our search for witnesses."

And there the investigation stalled. TV and press appeals for witnesses to anyone entering or leaving the house drew a blank, although a few more of Emily's clients came forward to tell their stories. Gene began to pin his hopes on the fact that a licensed shark such as Trevor Riley might have objected to Emily's amateur operation on their turf, and had her eliminated. But exhaustive inquiries failed to turn up any leads, and a number of visits to what Gene called the "legitimate vampires" gained them nothing except some angry exchanges and, to his fury, a complaint to Keats.

"You can't go on acting like a bull in a china shop, Hunt. Mr Ford complained very emphatically that you had accused him of murder and threatened him with physical violence."

"Nothing of the kind." Gene puffed defiantly on his fag. "I _informed _'im of the circumstances of Mrs Maitland's death, _noted_ that 'er operation was a rival to 'is, an' _asked_ 'im if 'e or 'is enforcers 'ad any information they could share with the police which might prevent any more amateur loan sharks bein' murdered in the comfort of their 'omes. His answer was severely insolent an' warranted a rebuke."

"You've got to move with the times, Hunt. In a modern police force, a _rebuke_ does not consist of threatening a member of the public with removing his intestines hand over hand by way of his nostrils and sending them to your mother in Manchester for a new clothes line!"

"Mere figure of speech, though Mam could do with a new clothes line, actually. In any case, Drake was with me, an' she'll tell you I didn't lay a finger on 'im."

"Not that I'd believe a word DI Drake says when she's defending you," Keats snarled. "Knowing your _off duty arrangements._ She's devoted to your interests, God knows why."

Gene longed to break the git's nose, but for Alex's sake he restrained himself. He did not want her name and reputation to be dragged into a private quarrel. "Correction. Drake's even more of a _pacifist_ than you are. She's used the bull an' china shop line on me before, an' she once got me suspended when she disapproved of my methods."

"That was before she started giving you house room," Keats fired back, and stormed out of Gene's office. This time, there was nothing more he could do, beyond noting that it was Gene's word against Ford's, but Gene recognised with foreboding that he might not be so lucky in future.

Their spat had the effect of increasing the already intense pressure upon Gene and the team to find Emily's murderer. They had already questioned every snout on their books, but Gene ordered a second sweep.

"Lean on 'em, see if they know anyone we can talk to, even if they're too scared to tell us themselves."

-oO0Oo-

"Nothing!" Gene smashed his fist onto his desk. "_Someone's_ got to know something!"

"What this means," Alex pointed out, "is that it's less likely to have been carried out by a member of the criminal fraternity. Back to our first theory. It was one of Emily's clients, someone with no previous form, which is why the snouts haven't heard of it. Someone whose name was in the missing pages from the ledger, but whom Ron hasn't identified."

"Either because 'e doesn't know 'em, or because 'e's scared of 'em," Chris added gloomily.

"Or someone related to a client," Ray said suddenly. "Protecting their old Mam or Auntie." The other three looked at him. "Might not 'ave the same surname," he added, almost defensively.

Gene jumped to his feet. "Raymondo, there are times I believe there's a brain under that perm. Fire up the whiteboard!"

Three minutes later, the team were assembled around the whiteboard while Gene scribbled on it with a marker pen and roared instructions.

"We'll take the list of clients all over again. The ones in the ledger an' the little list foul ol' Ron gave us. Chris, split 'em up an' allocate 'em between the lot of us. Then start checking out their friends an' relations. This is South London, for Keats' sake. Got to be some virtuous old girl or boy in money trouble who's got a black sheep in the family. This is the Fenchurch East Flea Circus. _Jump to it_!"

CID exploded into activity, and Gene scorched into his office, grabbed the file, and started to go through it again. Ray had just given them another line of inquiry. _Something I should have thought of. What's wrong with me today?_

He knew the answer very well. It had been haunting him for months, at the fringes of his mind, and now it loomed so large that there was no room for anything else.

_Today. It's going to be today. Why doesn't something happen? Why doesn't the phone ring, for God's sake?_

He doggedly applied himself to the forensic report. When the phone did ring, he started violently, knocked over a cup of cold tea, swore, and grabbed the receiver.

"Hunt."

"Are you Inspector Hunt?" Gene did not recognise the voice. Male. Young. Muffled. Terrified.

"DCI Hunt speaking. Who's this?"

"The murder. Emily Maitland. I - I might be able to help you. Something I saw."

Gene was very tense and quiet. "Yes. What?"

"Can't tell you now. Someone might hear."

"Understood. Don't want to put a potential witness in danger. Can't you come to the station to give a statement? Fenchurch East. You'd be safe 'ere."

"NO!" A little sob of terror, a catch of the breath. "_No_. I might be seen. Kill me - "

"Take your time, son." He wished to Heaven that Bolly was in on this conversation. She was better at coaxing a statement from a terrified witness. But he knew that it was he, not she, to whom this witness wished to speak.

"Be in Cringle Street tonight. There's a hoarding there, big poster for Gently Soap. Half past eleven."

"Listen, if you're scared or in danger, I can arrange police protection."

"No. No. Not that. Please be there. Don't tell anyone where you're going. And don't bring anyone with you."

"Not even my own officers?"

"No, _please._.. attract too much attention. Can't trust anyone but you." The voice dropped low, as though suddenly afraid of being heard. "I'll sit in your car, I know I'll be safe there. I can tell you everything I know."

"Who are you? How will I know you?"

"Please be there. Eleven-thirty. Alone. I trust you." There was another muffled sob, and the connection broke. The caller had hung up.

Gene replaced the receiver on its cradle. His hand was shaking. He stared at his desk calendar. The words and figures burned into his brain. _**Wednesday 17 October.**_

He closed his eyes, and saw again the image of his own gravestone.

_DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR GENE HUNT_

_10 FEBRUARY 1946 - 17 OCTOBER 1984_

Again Martin Summers's harsh voice echoed through his mind.

_"The message had been sent to you by a member of John Carnegie's former team, who was out for revenge on the man who had brought his Guv down. You sat waiting in your car, at the appointed place, smoking a cigarette while you waited for your informant to arrive. He came up to the window on your side, drew his gun, and shot you at point blank range."_

He opened his eyes. _But Summers said that I'd be killed because I went alone. Because I didn't trust the team any more. _

_It's October, and Tammy's still alive. Summers said she'd die in September. And I'll have the team behind me. That means I've got a chance._

He leapt to his feet, marched to the door, and wrenched it open.

"Drake! Ray! Chris! In 'ere!"

They obeyed. Gene closed the door.

"I've just 'ad two phone calls. One said someone would be calling me an' offering me information, but not to trust 'em. Something about danger. It was a bad line an' the caller rang off when I asked 'em who the hell they were. It was a man, but not a voice I know.

"The second called me shortly afterwards an' said they might 'ave information on Emily's murder. Male, sounded young, wouldn't give a name. Said 'e wants to meet me in Cringle Street at eleven-thirty. But 'e insisted I come alone an' said I mustn't tell anyone, even my colleagues. Couldn't trust anyone but me." He made the last two sentences sound suitably portentious.

"Why should he say that?" Chris frowned.

"Said too many of us would attract too much attention. Thing is, we don't know which one to trust, or even if the calls were connected." This was difficult. He knew how desperately he would need their help if he were to survive this, but he dared not sound frightened. _I'll have to look as though I'm letting them persuade me._

"Sounds like we should trust caller number one. Since when did two or three people in the Quattro attract more attention than one?" Alex scoffed.

"And why say not to tell us or trust us?" Ray added. "This is a murder case, for God's sake, not another blag we're trying to stop. Sounds dead suspicious to me."

"Fishy as Billingsgate on a bad morning," Gene agreed. "But my knackers are already in the Assistant Commissioner's stapler because of the length of time it's taking to crack this case, an' this is the only lead we've got. It might be genuine, an' if I don't follow it up, I could throw away our only chance of nailing Emily's killer _and _risk putting an informant in danger. An' we all know how dear James would love that."

"It could be a trap. The second caller must know we've had a lot of adverse publicity for this case, and they're hoping that it's divided the team from within." Alex's voice was very serious. "They're trying to isolate you from the team by making you suspicious of our motives."

"That 'appened once before, an' we all know it. _But not this time_. You know I trust all of you with my life."

"You've just been annoying every loan shark in South London. Remember when Riley's heavies came after us."

"Yeah." Gene felt a burst of relief. _A reason to let them think I accept that I could be attacked._ "Might be a joint effort."

"Don't go, Guv." Alex's voice was hard, controlled, urgent. She was striving to control herself, but her face looked gaunt with terror. _She's scared that if she shows she's afraid, I'll insist on going anyway._

He sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. "If this _is_ some bastard who wants to belt me over the melon, then if I don't show up he'll vanish an' try again some other time. This time, we've been warned. I've got to take advantage of that to nail 'im now."

"So what are you going to do, Guv?" Chris folded his arms.

Gene looked around the office, at each face in turn. "I have to go, but I'm not going alone. I need all of you with me on this. It could be dangerous."

"Since when did that stop us?" Alex seemed to blaze like a pillar of fire.

"Ray?"

"I've told you before, Guv, I'd jump off Tower Bridge for you."

"And I'd hold his hand," Chris added loyally. "In a manly way."

"Thanks." Gene was uncomfortably close to showing his emotion. Alex might appreciate that, but the other two sure as hell wouldn't. He took an _A to Z_ map from a drawer and spread it out on the desk. "Caller was very specific. Cringle Street, by the advertising hoarding for Gently Soap."

He saw Alex wince, and remembered the lorry advertising Gently Soap which had stopped them reaching the Prices before their car blew up.

"Could have been that specific so that they'd know exactly where to find you," she said sceptically. "Or else to set you up. Nice, lonely area. Nothing but warehouses and depots, with an empty power station nearby."

"And a dogs' 'ome. Safe area for a frightened witness, though," Gene felt obliged to add. "But just in case our little friend is a bastard with a baseball bat, we'll 'ave a reception committee. Now, 'ere's what we'll do." He folded the map and put the desk calendar and one of his toy cars in the centre of the desk. "This 'ere's the hoarding an' the Quattro. I'll be 'ere, in the Quattro. That hoarding won't give the rest of you many places to 'ide, but we'll 'ave to do our best." He put a mug to one side of the calendar. "Chris, you'll be further up the street, same side of the road, behind the Quattro, as close as you can get." He added a whisky glass, the other side of the calendar. "Bolly, you'll be further _down_ the street, ahead of the Quattro." He put a fag packet beside the car. "Ray, you'll be on the other side of the street, parallel with the Quattro. Don't know which direction our caller'll come from, but if 'e _is_ trying to catch me out, e'll probably approach from behind the car. We won't use radios, too much noise in a quiet street." _And as I know from Summers that it's a copper, he might be carrying his radio to pick up our messages. _"Whoever he passes first, distract 'is attention to give the others long enough to join me at the car, then follow 'im. We'll nail 'im if 'e tries anything."

Alex stared at the group of objects on the desk. "But you'll be a sitting duck."

_Don't think I haven't thought of that._ "We need evidence. DI Tyler, Chapter One, Verse Two."

"But what if he - " She could not finish the sentence. _What if he kills you?_ "You won't be able to defend yourself. We might be too far away."

"I'll 'ave my gun. The three of you'll 'ave 'im covered by before 'e reaches the car."

"Gene, please, this is too dangerous - "

He stood straight and tall, towering over her drooping figure. "I know." He allowed steel to enter his voice. "But I am not going to spend the rest of my life running an' hiding from some little phone-calling scrote. We've got to trap 'im, and the bait 'e'll take is me."

She looked away. "Be careful, then, Guv. Please." She was barely able to speak.

"Bols. I do have a very strong vested interest in s_taying alive_."

There was an uneasy silence, and she nodded. Gene addressed them all.

"We'll keep this amongst ourselves. Don't want Little Bo-Keats getting in on the act an' claiming we're setting up an illegal sting." _And if Summers hadn't told me that it's one of Carnegie's men, I'd have expected Keats to be behind this. _"We'll all leave Luigi's by ten an' meet up in the alley. We'll get over to Cringle Street in the Quattro to set things up."

"Can I tell Shaz?" Chris said timidly. "Only she's visiting 'er Mum tonight, and she'll worry if she gets 'ome and I'm not there."

Gene nodded. "Shaz is one of us, even when she's on leave."

Chris beamed with pleasure. Shaz was returning to duty part time in a fortnight, and he couldn't wait.

Gene looked around the room. "In the meantime, don't let this distract us from the main show. We're still checking on Emily's clients an' their friends an' relations. That'll be all. See you at beer o'clock."

Chris and Ray walked out. Alex remained, looking at Gene. She opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, and walked out without a word.

Gene sighed heavily. He would have preferred a blazing row to her silence. She had been so frail and distant since Molly's death. He sensed how her fear for him was draining her. _If only I could tell her why I have to do this. But she'd never believe me. She hasn't got over losing Molly yet, and I'm putting her though another ordeal. _

_I need her to be strong for me. My life might depend on her tonight._

-oO0Oo-

_This is just like Bolly before the Price car bomb. Trying to prevent a crime that hasn't happened yet. She seemed to know what was going to happen. Just as I do, now._

Gene shifted uneasily in the driver's seat of the Quattro. It was 11.25. He was smoking and waiting. Summers had said that the killer would come up to the window on the driver's side. That meant that parking the Quattro with the empty passenger seat beside the pavement might have given Gene an advantage, but the caller's instructions had obliged him to park with the driver's seat next to the pavement.

The caller had chosen his spot well. The street was lined with warehouses, depôts, and hoardings. They had had great difficulty in finding anywhere for Gene's "reception commitee" to hide. Chris was lurking in a doorway about twenty yards behind the Quattro, on the same side of the road. Gene would have preferred him to be nearer, but any closer location would have been hopelesly exposed due to the street lighting. Out of the corner of his eye, Gene could see Ray, standing motionless in the shadows on the opposite side of the road.

Gene could just make out Alex, sheltering in the lee of a gatepost some ten yards ahead, on the same side of the road as the Quattro. He had lived and worked with her long enough to know how fragile she was, and yet how strong, how valiant and dauntless.

He had never had to much to live for as he had now. Never so much to lose.

Sudden dread gripped him. _I've never told her I love her. _

When they had first come together, he had been afraid of scaring her away if she knew what he felt for her. Since then, there had never seemed to be a right time to raise the subject. Now, there might not be any more time.

_If I die now and she never knows, would that make it easier for her, or harder?_

His ears prickled at the sound of approaching footsteps behind him. He could see a figure in the driving mirror, but it was too far away for identification and the light was too poor. His watch said 11.30. _Right bang on time. _

He reached for his gun and threw his cigarette butt out of the open window. It exploded in a shower of sparks. Chris, behind him, saw his Guv's signal and lobbed a small stone at the building opposite. In the driving mirror, Gene saw the approaching figure start and look behind him. Chris had already ducked out of sight. The distraction lasted just long enough for Alex to dart out of hiding and crouch in front of the Quattro's bonnet, gun in hand.

The approaching figure drew level with the Quattro. A tall, awkwardly assembled young man, whose arms and legs looked too long for the rest of him. He bent down, looked into the driver's window, and whipped out a gun. Gene turned in his seat, reaching for his gun, and found himself looking into the barrel of a Magnum.

_Shit._

"Police." Alex stood, aiming her gun at the newcomer.

"Proper police!" Chris ran up to the rear of the Quattro, his pistol trained on the gunman.

Ray had already darted across the road and faced the gunman across the roof of the Quattro. "Bloody 'ell! Kingsize, as I live an' breathe!"

"DC Colin Kingston, Fenchurch West." Gene spat out the name of the station like poison.

"You shut up!" Kingston's gun jabbed him in the forehead. "All of you! Drop your guns or I shoot!"

"Drop the gun, Colin." Alex sounded calm, gentle, trustworthy. "You're between three fires. You can't get out of this."

Kingston giggled nervously. "Won't do anything while I've got your precious DCI at gunpoint, though, will you? Mexican standoff."

Gene saw her flinch. "It's all right, Colin. We don't want to hurt you, any more than we want you to hurt him. None of us want a fatality outcome."

"Speak for yourself!" Kingston's voice was shrill with excitement and fear.

Alex stooped, put her gun on the ground, and stood, holding her hands wide. "Look, Colin. You can see I'm unarmed. Tell me, why did you set up this trap for DCI Hunt?"

Kingston's face twisted with hatred. "Hunt brought down my Guv. The best Guv a bloke ever had. He was like a Dad to me. Now he's rotting in the Scrubs. He was stabbed by an inmate he'd put away, and now he's had a heart attack. Hunt did all that to him."

"John Carnegie betrayed 'is badge an' the Force!" Gene shouted.

"Shut _up_!" Kingston's gun poked his forehead, and he had the sense not to say anything more. He saw Alex flinch, but she dared not throw him a warning glance, as she needed to maintain eye contact with Kingston.

"Your loyalty to your Guv is very understandable," she said gently. "We would all do anything for ours. But don't you know what terrible things John Carnegie did?"

"He got blamed for what other people did!" Kingston spat, his gun hand shaking.

_That might even be true, _Gene thought. He remained convinced that more top brass than Mac had been responsible for Operation Rose, but Carnegie and his surviving confederates had all maintained, under questioning, that only they had been involved.

"He was the ringleader of a gang that tried to steal a bullion consignment," Alex said quietly. "They set a shop on fire. The owner got an insurance payout but he lost his custom while the shop was being rebuilt and he's gone out of business. They gunned down the robbers and the security guards. One of the guards was so badly wounded that he hasn't been able to work since. He and his wife and children are living off social security. He was so relieved when he saw the police arriving to save him from the robbers, and they shot him. These were _police_, Colin. Men pledged to serve and protect the public, who abused their positions of trust in the worst possible way."

Kingston's face contorted with rage and anguish. "That isn't true. He was _my_ Guv, the best Guv there ever was!"

"Colin, I know what it's like to discover that your idol has feet of clay." Alex's voice shook with emotion. "To learn that someone you love is capable of a terrible crime. But, believe me, I have learned that the only way forward is to rise above that. Above_ them_."

Kingston whimpered, and his gun hand shook. Alex caught her breath,and seemed to be looking at him differently. "Carnegie paid you to look the other way, didn't he? Just like PC Summers. He believed, and Carnegie took that away from him. But when Carnegie corrupted you, you still believed in him."

Kingston was shaking. "He - he _looked after me_."

"Yes," Alex said gently. "I'm sure that's what he called it. It's all right, Colin. You took a bribe, that's all. It was bad, but it's possible for you to go beyond that. But what you're planning to do now, would destroy you for ever. You've just told us what's happened to Carnegie in the Scrubs. Do you think it would be any easier for you?"

Kingston whimpered again, and the barrel of his gun prodded Gene's forehead as his hand trembled. Gene forced himself to remain still. He knew that Kingston was on a knife-edge, and any tiny movement or distraction might make him panic.

_Wish to God I'd put Ray behind the car and Chris across the road. Ray might be able to sneak up behind him and grab him while Bolly's talking. Chris isn't tall enough for that._

_Tall enough… Bloody hell._

"And a cop killer would have an even longer sentence than a corrupt cop who masterminded a robbery," Alex was saying. "You're young, Colin. You have your life before you. You don't have to do this. You are _not_ a murderer."

Kingston's ungainly body jerked as though he had received an electric shock, and he shrieked, "WRONG!"

"Colin - "

"That's because he _is_ a murderer already," Gene said grimly. His colleagues stared at him in shock, and Kingston gasped. "You weren't lying when you phoned me, were you? You know who killed Emily Maitland."

Kingston was breathing hard. "No - "

"The fatal blow was struck by someone at least six feet tall," Gene continued. "The killer wore gloves and a mac which wouldn't leave fibres, the cup she drank from was washed up, the house was wiped clean of prints, an' the murder weapon was taken away an' destroyed. The perfect crime. Because it was committed by a copper who knew how to avoid leaving any evidence which could implicate him."

"Margaret Hamilton," Ray said suddenly. "She's your Mum, isn't she? Remarried after your Dad died, an' now she's a widow again. I remember, she came with you to a Met dinner last year. You brought 'er because you didn't 'ave a girlfriend. She was on the list of Emily's clients that Big Ron gave us. I hadn't made the connection before."

"You leave 'er out of this!" Kingston shouted. "She's done nothing!"

"Of course she hasn't," Alex said soothingly, but Kingston was beyond listening to her. He smiled down at Gene, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Nice one, Hunt. Pity it's the last case you'll ever solve."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Kingston started violently at Alex's scream, and Chris took advantage of the split second's distraction to dive forward and grab Kingston's gun arm. The gun wavered upward and went off. The bullet scraped the Quattro's roof and narrowly missed Ray. Kingston jerked his arm backwards, and Chris went head over heels. Ray fired. Kingston ducked as the bullet tore a hole in the hoarding behind him, spun around to face Alex, and fired again. Alex lurched sideways, threw up her hands, and dropped like a shed garment.

"_BOLLY!_" Gene leapt from the car. Kingston jumped over the fallen Chris and raced off down Cringle Street, long legs flashing. Ray, jinking around the back of the Quattro, fired after him but missed. Chris, who had dropped his gun to grab Kingston, snatched it up and fired as he struggled to his feet, but his aim was hopelessly wide of the target. But as Kingston reached the junction with Kirtling Sreet, a figure in an overcoat and a beret stepped out of the shadows and fired a gun, and he fell. Further away, a familiar howl rent the air.

Chris stopped dead in his tracks. "_Tammy?_"

"You woke my baby." Shaz's voice floated through the night. "You are _so_ nicked, mate."

"_Shaz?_"

"Evening, lover." Shaz came down the road towards them, her gun still smoking. "You'd better radio for an ambulance. He really is a bleeder. I only left Mum's half an hour ago, so I thought I'd come over here and see if you needed any help." She glanced over her shoulder. "Tammy's in the car. I'd better get back to her or she'll be waking the Dogs' Home."

Gene barely noticed. For him, the world seemed to have stopped since Alex fell.

_God, not her. Summers said I'd be killed tonight. but he never said her. If Kingston's killed her, he might as well have shot me too. _

Through the fog of his shock and terror, he forced himself to turn towards the figure lying crumpled on the ground in front of the Quattro. Every movement seemed to take an age. He had only taken two steps when a slender hand reached up and grasped a wing mirror, and Alex levered herself onto her knees and then to her feet, leaning awkwardly against the bonnet. At the edges of his consciousness, he registered the sound of an ambulance siren approaching.

"Y'okay?" He did not know how he had managed to speak. She nodded and lurched forward into his arms, clinging to him as though she would never let go, tears streaming down her face.

"Gene, oh God, Gene, I thought - I thought I'd lost you - "

"Yeah, me too." He folded her into a close embrace. "But next time you plan on yellin' like that to create a diversion, you'll give me advance warning a couple of weeks ahead, preferably in writing. Bloody nearly froze my giblets." Her only answer was inarticulate sobs. He gently disengaged himself and sat her down in the driver's seat of the Quattro, facing outward to the street. She buried her face in her hands and wept anew. He ached to comfort her, but that would have to come later. Right now, he had a job to do. He turned to face the others.

Chris approached nervously. "Is the Boss OK?"

"Yeah, I think so. Just shaken up. What about Kingsize?"

"Shaz shot 'im in the leg. She'd just come back with Tammy from seeing 'er Mum and parked up in Kirtling Street. Ray's already cuffed 'im an' read 'im 'is rights. I've got 'is gun 'ere, wrapped in my hanky."

"Good. Block off the end of the street to traffic until we've got a police photographer to record the scene."

"You don't need a police photographer, Sir." Shaz had approached, with a sleepily grumbling Tammy in the crook of her arm. "You've got Chris." She unslung Chris's large camera from her shoulder and passed it to him. "Thought you might need this, so I put it in the glove box before I left to see Mum. There's two spare films and a box of flashbulbs in the side pocket."

He took it. "Thanks, love!"

"Well done, Shaz." Gene radiated pride. "I'm recommending you for WDC when you're back on duty."

"Oh, thank you, Sir!" Shaz looked completely taken aback.

"I _won't_ ask where you got a gun while you're on maternity leave, as I know it'll 'ave been issued to Chris an' he shouldn't 'ave left it at 'ome. Keats'd 'ave a field day if 'e knew. Listen up. You returned to duty a fortnight ago at my request, to work undercover for me on the Maitland case. I'll put you on the payroll. That'll cover you if Keats starts bleating. An' I'll give WPC Tammy Skelton 'er badge when she's old enough not to try an' eat it. She's as good as a burglar alarm."

Chris flushed with pleasure. "Roger that, Guv."

Shaz produced a flask from her overcoat pocket. "Once a tea girl, always a tea girl. I made this to drink while I was waiting in the car. Looks like the Boss could do with it."

Gene took it. "Thanks, Shaz. You think of everything."

Ray jogged up. "Ambulance is here, an' the medics are seeing to 'im. I've told 'em he's under arrest on suspicion of murder and attempted murder, an' must 'ave a police guard at all times."

"_And_ damaging my car," Gene said darkly. "Shaz, take Tammy home. Chris, Drake an' I'll move out of the way so's you can photograph the scene from all angles. Including the damage on the roof of the Quattro an' the places where the bullets landed." He reached into the glove box and produced a powerful torch. "You'll need that to find them. Bag 'em up after you've photographed 'em. We'll want to get a ballistic match with 'is gun. I'll radio for a squad car to take the evidence an' your camera back to the station when you're done. Get the film developed as soon as the darkroom boys are in in the morning, an' get the gun an' bullets off to ballistics. Ray, you're to go to the hospital with Kingsize. Stick to 'im like superglue. You can radio the station to get plod to share the watch with you, but it's _your_ responsibility to make sure that bastard stays under guard all the time he's in hospital. As soon as he can be discharged, get a van to take 'im back to Fenchurch East for a nice, quiet word with the Genie."

"Right, Guv."

"_Got that?_ If this one gets away because you cock it up, I shall play snooker with your balls an' use your todger as the cue. With you still attached."

Ray paled. "Understood, Guv."

"Good. I'll need reports an' statements from all three of you first thing tomorrow morning. For now, mush. I'm staying till Chris 'as finished 'is Patrick Lichfield act, then I'm seeing our esteemed lady colleague home. Well done, all of you."

Mumbling their thanks, they fled, and Gene was free to turn his attention back to Alex. She was still sitting, her face in her hands, sobbing quietly. _Shock, probably. _He knelt in front of her and placed his hands on her upper arms.

"All over, Bols. You can come out now. Nasty man gone."

She raised tear-filled eyes to his and reached out, shaking, to cup his face between her hands.

"Oh, Gene - "

"The ambulance is collecting Kingsize. Shall I get'em to check you over while they're 'ere?"

"No, I'm not hurt. My boot heel snapped off against the kerb when I dodged his bullet. Oh, Gene, ever since I lost her I've been pushing you away, shutting you out - "

"No, you 'aven't."

"I have, I _have_! You're everything to me, the only thing left for me in this world, all I have to live for - " Her sobs broke out afresh. "I thought I was going to be left all alone here, and you wouldn't even have known…"

He caught her close and let her weep upon his heart. "Easy, Bols. All over now." He understood how she felt. God knew, he was no stranger to loss, but never had he felt such sickening terror as when he had seen Kingston fire and Alex fall. Even now, holding her, he closed his eyes and saw that dreadful image again. He shook his head and willed it to go away.

_There, where I have garnered up my heart, where either I must live or bear no life_ - he'd been forced to learn those lines as part of an English Literature lesson, nearly forty years ago. He hadn't thought of them in God knew how many years, didn't even remember what they came from, but as he knelt on the pavement, rocking Alex in his arms, those words summed up what he felt. He knew, as surely as he had ever known anything, that if she had died, his life would have lost its meaning.

"Steady, sweetheart. Remember, the Gene Genie doesn't do leaving."

"I've been so ungrateful," she wailed softly into his coat.

"_Bollocks_."

"I could have lost you…"

"Well, you didn't, an' thank God I didn't lose you, so you'll still 'ave to look at my classic countenance an' I'll 'ave the pleasure of studying your delightful arse."

She tried to laugh through her tears, but it was a feeble effort, and she clung to him even tighter. He rocked her, stroking her hair, gently shushing her, until at last her sobs quietened and she looked up at him. She reached up and touched his face. Amid the horror of the night, he could savour the tenderness of the moment. She had been so distant, for so long. It was as though Kingston's bullet had shattered the glass wall that had been between them since Molly's death. The possibility of loss had brought his Bolly back to him.

"Got both the bullets, Guv!" Chris trotted up to them, beaming with success. "The first hit the door opposite, and the one that missed the Boss was in the tarmac near the junction with Nine Elms Lane. I've photoed 'em and bagged 'em."

"Right." Gene lifted Alex out of the car. "We've got to stay out of the way while David Bailey does 'is bit." He carried her over to a low wall below the hoarding, poured her a cup of stewed tea from Shaz's flask, and crouched beside her, radioing for a squad car and then bawling directions to Chris, while his eager DS hopped around the scene, taking as many photos as a fashion shoot. Eventually Chris proclaimed himself satisfied, just as the squad car arrived. It departed with him, leaving Gene and Alex alone in the empty street. He lifted her into the passenger seat, sat in the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the engine.

"Time to go 'ome. I'm taking you to mine. It's nearer."

Why he should suddenly take her to his house, when he had been shying away from the idea for months, was something that he could not explain. All that he knew was that the time was right. She simply nodded and laid her head against his shoulder as the Quattro gathered speed.

He grabbed his radio. "Anyone there this time of night?"

"Sir?"

"Viv? Still at the station? What's 'appened to your 'ome life?"

"Putting in overtime to pay for Christmas presents for my kids, Sir. Anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah. Put Shaz back on the payroll an' backdate it for the last fortnight. Can you do that so's no-one can see you only did it tonight?"

"Oui, mon capitaine. Nobody's been added to the payroll for the past month, so I'll add her to the foot of this month's page in the ledger and use an old date. Anything else?"

"How many guns does Chris have booked out to him?"

There was a short silence and a rustling of pages. "Two."

"Right. Book one of 'em out to Shaz."

"Backdated a fortnight?"

"Got it. An' do it when dear Mr Keats can't see you."

"No problem, Sir. He's gone home to bed, if he has one. Sometimes I think he sleeps in a coffin."

"Good point. See you tomorrow. Out."

Gene put the radio back in the glove box, and less than a minute later the Quattro touched down outside his house. He lifted Alex from the car, locked it, and carried her up the pathway. He had to set her down while he unlocked the door, but, mindful that she could scarcely walk with only one boot heel, he picked her up again to lift her over the threshold, just as if she were a bride, kicked the door shut behind him, carried her into the living room, and deposited her on the sofa.

Christ, this had been a bad idea. The place was dark and cold. He had last been back three days ago, and that had only been to pick up post, get some clean clothes, and check that nothing in the fridge had gone off. Still in his overcoat, he buzzed about, turning the heating on, switching on lights and drawing curtains. Alex, huddled on the sofa, seemed barely to notice her surroundings, which, he reflected, was probably just as well. He stumped out to the kitchen, boiled the kettle, and made them both tea, thanking God that he had fresh milk in the house. He put enough sugar into Alex's tea to give a diabetic patient nightmares, hoping that it would be good for her shock, but she could only sip it, and he did not force her to drink it. She began to shiver, and he wrapped his coat around her. "Sorry. You're cold. Stupid idea, bringing us 'ere."

"No, I'm all right. It's just - " She moved closer to him, and he put his arm around her.

"I know. Let's get you to bed."

He carried her upstairs to the bedroom and helped her to undress, sitting her down on the king-size bed, kneeling before her and gently pulling off her boots. Only when he had tucked her beneath the cosy duvet did he shed his own clothes and slip in beside her. She had not moved, and he thought that she was already asleep, but when she felt him beside her she reached for him, moaning "Gene, please…", and, without a word, he took her in his arms.

Their lovemaking was frantic, needy, violent, without grace, tenderness or finesse. Both were overwhelmed by the need to possess, mark, almost consume one another. Nothing less than this desperate, urgent coupling could reassure them that they were both alive. Afterwards, they clung close, still afraid of losing each other. Still shaking like a leaf, Gene looked down at Alex as she lay in his arms, her head on his chest, her eyes closed, and he was appalled at what he had done. She had just been through hell. He should have been gentle with her, and instead he had used her like some animal. But then she had been no better. They would both have bruises for days, and his shoulder was bleeding from where she had bitten down on his flesh as he drove her to her peak. He knew that she had needed the catharsis of their union as much as he.

"I love you, Alex," he rumbled, stroking her hair. Instantly he froze.

_Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why did I have to say that? Just as everything was going so well. She's tired and emotional, she can't deal with this now. I might have ruined everything._

She looked up at him, and what he saw in her eyes made his heart leap. She smiled.

"I love you too, Gene. And as long as I live, I shall never, ever forget that you had the courage to say it before I did." She closed her eyes and fell asleep before he could reply.

Then Gene understood that the night that should have brought him his death, had brought him life and love, and he accepted the gift, and was glad and grateful.

"Just as well, Drake, or I'd 'ave reported you to Keats for making inappropriate advances to a superior officer," he mumbled, and fell asleep.

**TBC**

**A/N: The quotation which Gene had been forced to learn, comes from Shakespeare's "Othello".**


	8. Stay

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. Only four episodes left, I can't bear it...**

**Thank you yet again to everyone who is still following this story,and especially those who have reviewed, here and elsewhere. Please keep them coming in, all feedback is welcome!**

**I'm working on the next (last) chapter and hope very much to get it finished and posted next weekend, but apologies in advance if I don't manage it. I already know that it's going to be very long, and I still have a lot to do. Which is also why I'm so behind with R&R'ing everyone else's stories - sorry about that, I really want to catch up as soon as I can!**

**A word about Keats in this story. I wrote the earlier chapters before we knew much about S3. In the light of the first four episodes, I've rewritten my original intentions for him in this chapter to make him more, well, Keatsy! **

Alex awakened early the following morning, feeling warm, relaxed, peaceful, and utterly safe. She could not remember where she was. The bed and the room were comfortable, but unfamiliar. But Gene was there, snoring lustily, and that was all that mattered. She drifted back to sleep, and when she awakened again, the room was still barely light. He lay facing her, gazing at her with such intensity that she felt weak. She remembered what they had both said the previous night.

"My love," she whispered, stroking his cheek.

"Took us both long enough to say, didn't it?" He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"Too long," she agreed, settling against him.

He looked down at her. "_Stay._"

"Well, I wasn't planning to get up just yet - "

"No, I mean, stay 'ere, with me. Make this your home. No, stupid idea, of course you won't want to, you're an independent woman, you'll want to keep your own place, forget it - "

She gently laid her fingers on his lips to stop the flow of words.

"Gene. I would love to."

"Eh?"

"I want to make my home here with you. You are my home. Where you are is where I must be. That's all that matters."

He simply could not conceal how stunned he felt. "You sure?"

She smiled and stroked his face again. "I'm sure."

"Good." He kissed her again. "Only five o'clock. Fancy giving the bed another test drive until the alarm goes off?"

"Let's."

_Right, Summers. I've got past 17 October, and she wants to live here. That's numbers three and four._

-oO0Oo-

He insisted on cooking her "a proper breakfast", and while he made mayhem in the kitchen, she wandered around the house and looked at every room. She smiled to see the little bronze lion she had given him the previous Christmas, in pride of place on the sideboard in the living room. When he came in to summon her to the table, he found her admiring the plasterwork on the ceiling.

_Typical. I lived here for over three years before I moved in with her, and I never even noticed it. She's here overnight, and she's already sussing the architectural details._

"You do realise that if I eat this lot, I won't fit into these jeans for much longer?" she said tartly as he plunked a full English breakfast, swimming with grease, in front of her.

"Not 'aving expected the company, I don't keep your rabbit food in the house."

"Muesli."

"Swiss rabbit food."

"I'll have to get some and reorganise the larder."

"His an' her food?"

"Something like that. You'd never told me you lived in such a lovely house."

"Hadn't thought about it much. Moved into it when I first got down south. Just somewhere to go when I wasn't working or getting pissed at Luigi's. Hardly been 'ere since we got together. Bloody big barn. I've never needed half the rooms. Four bedrooms, living room _an'_ reception room, kitchen big enough to eat in - "

"It must be Victorian, with those beautiful mouldings. Nice, high ceilings. And it was a good idea to paint all the rooms white. It makes them look even larger."

He grunted. "Wasn't my idea. Previous owner left it like this with most of the furniture, an' I've never bothered to change it."

"How come you ended up in such a nice place as this when you moved to London? I imagined you living in some tatty lodging house."

"Didn't do too badly from the divorce. I just wanted out as fast as possible, but a lawyer I knew, Carson, told me that because the wife 'ad walked out on me, not me on 'er, I could get a decent settlement. He'd 'elped me out once before, when I'd been accused of murder, so I went with it. Spends most of 'is time pissed, but 'e's a bloody good lawyer when 'e's sober. The wife wanted out too, so we agreed to sell the house an' furniture an' split everything fifty-fifty. A mate at GMP put me in touch with the bloke who owned this place. DI Stephens, Kennington CID. His missus was ill, an' 'e was taking early retirement to look after 'er. Their kids 'ad all moved out, an' 'e was buying a house in Cornwall, just for the two of 'em. He wanted a quick sale so's to move 'er out of London as soon as possible, so 'e was prepared to sell for well under its value, an' threw in the furniture 'e didn't want to take. I'd paid off the mortgage in Manchester long ago, so it didn't kill me to get one 'ere. Thought it would give me a property to flog when I want to get that place in Alicante."

"Hmm, perhaps we should talk to the Townleys after all. But in the meantime this is a great house. We're in Clapham, aren't we? I remember you mentioning in Luigi's once, that that's where you live. I wasn't up to noticing much about my surroundings last night."

"S'right. Union Road."

"Clapham's a coming area. This house'll be worth a lot more in a few years' time. Property market'll be booming by the time you retire."

"How did you work that one out, Mrs Crystal Ball?"

"Take it from me, I know."

_She said she comes from the future. _The thought was more than Gene could tackle at that time in the morning, especially with the prospect of murdering scum to interview before lunch. He stored it away for future consideration and helped himself to more toast.

"I take it everything's in good order?" Alex went on. "No dry rot, damp, woodworm? Electricity, gas and water supplies all OK?"

"Bloody 'ell, give a bird 'ouse room an' she takes over. Yeah, everything's fine except the stairs. They creak. An' if you're moving in, we'll 'ave to soundproof the bedroom. The old girl next door's seventy-five an' she's got a lively imagination."

"Point taken. I was thinking of the appearance of the place. It looks good, but with a bit of work it could look even better. It would be worth the effort."

"Pink fluffy cushions are _out_."

"Absolutely. The white paintwork's fine, but a bit stark. We need a bit of colour to relieve it, especially in the living room. A couple of coloured rugs and something to go on the walls. Some of your western film posters."

"That print Chris an' Shaz gave you last Christmas."

"Yes, that kind of thing. The fireplace in the living room is amazing, it still has the original Victorian wrought iron grate _and_ a brass fender. We should use it again. Just think how cosy it would be, to come home to a real fire."

Gene looked pained. "Bolly, 'ave you any idea 'ow much work's involved in 'aving an open fire? My Mam used to spend ages every day on 'er 'ands an' knees, clearing out the grate an' laying the fire. Cinders, ash, dust an' soot everywhere. An' that chimney probably 'asn't been swept since the war."

"Maybe just on special occasions, then."

"Well - " His hand slid over hers. "If you're really sold on moving in an' making my life an interior designer's nightmare, I'll let you do your worst. In the meantime, we'll 'ave to show our faces in CID soonest, an' you'll 'ave to call in at the flat for another pair of boots."

"And a clean blouse."

"Yeah. I don't know when the hospital will discharge Kingston, but I want us to interview 'im as soon as we get 'im. An' as this is a police officer, Keats the Creep'll want to be involved."

"Yuck. You're putting me off my eggy soldiers. For Heaven's sake, keep your temper when he's around."

"Worry not, Bolly. Tyler 'imself would approve of this interview. By. The. Book."

-oO0Oo-

They walked into CID hand in hand. Viv looked up from his newspaper.

"Good morning, Sir, Ma'am."

"Morning, Skip. Did you get to do those things I asked about last night?"

"All sorted, Sir."

"Ta. Any news on Kingston?"

"The hospital discharged him this morning. He's in the cells. His lawyer's on the way."

"Right. Let me know when the lawyer arrives. I want to interview the little shit as soon as possible."

"You should know, Sir, Ray insisted on staying with Kingston all night. He came in this morning, but he's asleep at his desk. Oh, and Keats is looking for you."

The words had barely left Viv's mouth when Keats burst through the swing doors, coat swirling, and bore down upon them like an avenging fury.

"Morning, James. Nice day. Anything the matter?"

"Hunt, I cannot _believe_ that _even_ you would employ a woman constable on maternity leave, and who has received _no_ firearms training, to take part in a dangerous secret operation! She even had her _child_ with her. Between you, you must have broken every health and safety rule in the book!"

"I take it you're referring to Shaz?"

"Why was I not informed of what you intended to do last night? You've gone and arrested a colleague, for God's sake!"

"A colleague who tried to shoot both myself and Drake. Shaz, Ray an' Chris can all confirm that. He's also suspected of another murder."

"Pardon?"

"I didn't tell you what I was doing because I had received a secret tip-off from an impeccable source, that a police officer might be involved. I told as few people as possible. You know 'ow hard it is to keep a secret around 'ere, an' a stray remark from anyone at the station could easily 'ave got about."

"_Anyone_?" Keats's glasses glinted dangerously.

"Present company excepted, _of course_."

"_What about WPC Skelton_?"

"She returned from maternity leave early at my request, to do some secret surveillance work. She's been on the payroll for the past fortnight, an' 'er gun's been booked out to 'er. You can inspect the records. Shaz is a crack shot. She saved Chris's life during Operation Rose."

Keats's pale face looked unusually colourful. "What about DC Kingston? DCI Longton's been on the phone to me. He's livid that one of his officers has been arrested."

"Can't say I blame 'im," Gene said urbanely. "I wouldn't like it if 'e arrested one of mine. Kingston's lawyer is on the way, an' Drake an' I will be interviewing 'im as soon as the lawyer's 'ere. I'd very much like you to sit in on this one, James. Show you 'ow we conduct interviews 'ere at Fenchurch East."

"With pleasure," Keats said darkly.

-oO0Oo-

Alex switched the tape recorder on. "Interview of DC Colin Kingston commenced at ten forty-six a.m. Present in the interview room, DCI Hunt, DI Drake, DC Kingston, his lawyer, Mr Charles Nokes, and DCI Keats as _observer._"

Gene took charge. "DC Kingston, yesterday afternoon at three forty-six, I received a phone call from someone who wished to remain anonymous. This caller promised me information on the murder of Emily Maitland if I came alone to Cringle Street at eleven-thirty. I waited there in my car, an' at the appointed time you came along, put a gun through the window an' tried to shoot me."

Kingston looked carefully blank. "No comment."

"Fortunately I 'adn't obeyed the caller's instruction to go alone. Four members of my team, including DI Drake, were nearby. They saved my life. Now, the whole incident lasted nearly half an hour, including the time the ambulance was present to take you to 'ospital. In all that time, nobody else came along to give me any information. Don't you think that's more than a coincidence, Kingston?"

"No comment."

Alex took up the tale. "I negotiated with you while you were holding DCI Hunt at gunpoint. You admitted that you had set up a trap for him because you held him responsible for the arrest, conviction and imprisonment of your former superior officer, DCI John Carnegie."

"No comment."

"When I sugested that Carnegie had paid you to turn a blind eye to his illegal actvities, you said that he "looked after you." What exactly did that mean?"

"No comment."

Gene was starting to turn red in the face, but with Keats watching him, looking uncommonly satisfied with the situation, he dared not lose his temper. He felt Alex's leg pressing lightly against his, and recognised her silent warning. _Cool it._

"During 'er negotiations, DI Drake said that you were not a murderer. You shouted "Wrong!". What did that mean?"

"No comment."

"You'd lured me there with the promise of information on the murder of Emily Maitland. You weren't lying, were you? You knew very well who murdered her."

"What?" Keats looked shocked.

"No comment."

"When I accused you of murdering her, you said it would be the last case I'd ever solve. Why did you say that, if I 'adn't solved it?"

"No comment."

"Her nephew, Ron Saunders, has already told us that your mother was in debt to her," Alex said calmly. "We interviewed your mother, and she told us that Emily and Ron had visited her and intimidated her. That's why you killed Emily, isn't it? To protect your mother."

"_No comment._"

"DI Drake, I must protest!" Mr Nokes said sharply. "The evidence you offer against my client for the alleged attempted murder of DCI Hunt is based on the statements of a coterie of colleagues from a station which has long been a rival to his. And there is absolutely no evidence to link my client with the murder of Emily Maitland."

"No," Gene said grimly. "Because it's 'is job to find murderers, 'e knew 'ow to cover 'is tracks."

"Moreover, my client was shot in the leg by a police officer who was on leave at the time and had no authority to use a firearm."

Gene gritted his teeth. "Who was working undercover and reporting to me."

"Doubtless a full investigation of this sorry incident will reveal the truth. You do realise that the _irregularities_ in the handling of this affair give my client grounds to sue the Metropolitan Police for damages for personal injury? This does not reflect well upon your station, DCI Hunt."

God, if Keats smiled any wider, Gene was sure that he would burst a blood vessel. But he felt the pressure of Alex's leg again.

"Of course, DC Kingston is completely at liberty to exercise his right to remain silent when questioned," she said gravely. "But we have ballistic evidence proving that he attempted to murder both DCI Hunt and myself last night. His gun, with his fingerprints on it, was recovered from the scene. The bullets fired from his gun have also been recovered and the places where they were found were photographed."

"Planted evidence," Mr Nokes said airily. "_Not_ unknown at this station."

"And with regard to Mrs Maitland's murder, as DC Kingston is unwilling to answer any questions put to him, we will have to seek another statement from his mother, Mrs Hamilton."

"NO!" Kingston looked horrified. "No! You can't do that!"

"Of course we can." Alex was implacable. "She isn't a suspect, but she is a witness. She will be able to tell us whether her son knew of her dealings with Emily Maitland and the intimidation she suffered as a result. And, if he did know, whether she told him before or after Mrs Maitland's death."

"No! You mustn't! She's old and ill, you must leave her alone!"

"Why?" Gene leapt to the attack, while Nokes frantically signalled to Kingston to keep quiet. "Because you don't want 'er to know what 'er little boy's done?"

"_Leave her out of this_!"

"Let me remind you that you are _not_ in a position to dictate 'ow this investigation is conducted! Drake, go an' tell Skelton to ring Mrs Hamilton. 'Er phone number's on the list Saunders gave us. If she's too infirm to come 'ere, we can send a squad car for 'er, or visit 'er at 'ome to seek a witness statement."

Alex rose from her seat. "Right away, Guv. DI Drake left the interview room at ten fifty-four a.m." She made for the door, but as she reached out to open it, she was stopped by a howl from Kingston.

"_No! No! Not that!_"

Slowly, she turned back to the table. "If you talk to us, Colin, we may not need to speak to your mother. It's your choice."

Kingston was shaking. "Do - do you promise to leave her alone?"

"DI Drake, I must protest!" Nokes shouted. "You are attempting to blackmail my client by threatening his mother!"

"Nothing of the kind." She resumed her seat beside Gene. "We have already interviewed Mrs Hamilton in the course of this investigation, and she was treated with the same kindness, courtesy, tact and consideration as the other many elderly, frail witnesses whom we have interviewed. None of them, including her, have had any cause for complaint. I appreciate DC Kingston's concern for his mother. However, if he continues in his refusal to co-operate with this investigation, we will have no alternative but to seek our information through the other sources available to us. Including Mrs Hamilton. That is a perfectly correct course of procedure, isn't it, DCI Keats?"

"Perfectly correct." Keats's face was like thunder on an innocent summer's day, and he sounded as though he were about to choke on a fairy cake.

"Thank you." Alex smiled sweetly. "We conduct our interviews here by the book. The choice is Colin's."

Nokes opened his mouth, but Kingston motioned to him to be silent. Everyone else in the room watched as he sat, breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching his fists. At last he looked at Alex.

"She's got a bad heart. The doctor says she could go at any time. A bad shock could kill her. I went to see her, the last Sunday in September, and I found her in an awful state, crying and shaking. I calmed her down and begged her to tell me what was wrong. It was that Maitland bitch. Mum had borrowed a hundred quid off her to get the roof fixed. Emily had started by charging her five per cent interest, but after a fortnight she wanted the lot back straight away, and upped the interest rate to 500% when Mum said she couldn't pay."

"Just like Mr Shah and all the other poor sods," Gene muttered.

"Emily and her nephew had just been to see her. They'd been through the house, taking what they wanted, and Emily had screamed in her face that she'd get a possession order on the house and have Mum thrown out on the street. I hadn't even known that Mum was in debt. She was terrified. I put her to bed and called the doctor, and I told her not to worry, I'd see to it that Emily didn't bother her again, that it was an illegal operation and I'd shut it down."

"Why didn't you visit Emily an' warn 'er off, or tell your Guv and get 'is team to investigate?" Gene said curtly.

Kingston scowled. "If I'd visited Emily myself, she'd have worked out sooner or later that Margaret Hamilton's my mother. And if I'd gone to my Guv, it would have been no better. You know how the law works, Hunt. Emily and Ron would have been hauled in for questioning, but she could have afforded a good lawyer. Their operation might have been shut down, it might not. Even if they'd been charged, most likely they'd have been free to go until the trial. Either way, God help anyone whom they thought had snitched on them to the cops. Mum's life wouldn't have been worth living. Anyway, when I checked it out, I realised Emily lived in your patch, not ours. Couldn't believe my luck. The chance to get rid of that cow _and_ bring you down too. Two birds with one stone. I watched Saunders and found he went to the club in Tooting most evenings. I bought a black plastic mac from a street market and some sleeping pills from a chemist, and I found a cosh in the evidence room at Fenchurch West. On October 8th, I watched the club and saw Saunders going in. I rang Emily from a phone box. I said my name was Frank Taylor, and I needed a loan of £300 urgently, to cover a gambling debt. She told me to come and see her right away.

"I reached Emily's just after 10.35. Couldn't believe how easily she let me in. I'd have thought she'd have been more suspicious with all that money in the house, and she must have known how much everyone hated her, but she was so eager to get someone else into her net. Her greed blinded her.

"I saw the baseball bat behind the door and decided I'd use that to kill her instead of the cosh, just in case the cosh got missed from the evidence room. She showed me into the living room. There was a loan agreement on the coffee table, drawn up ready for me to sign. I asked for a moment to look at it before I signed, and she went away to make us some tea. I sneaked out into the hall and hid the bat behind the umbrella stand, then I went back in, sat down, and palmed the tablets in my hand. She came back and poured the tea, and I signed the agreement and handed it back to her. While she went to get the money, I dropped the tablets into her cup. She came back with it, and I sat there drinking the tea, spinning her a tale about my bad luck with the dogs and the horses. I pretended to be so grateful to the old leech for getting me out of a hole. After about twenty-five minutes I saw she was getting sleepy, and I said I should be going.

"She gave me the money and wobbled to the door ahead of me. Just as she was about to open the door I grabbed the bat and brought it down on her head. She went down like a sack of spuds. I felt for a pulse but there wasn't one. The mac was covered in blood, so I went upstairs to the bathroom and cleaned it off. I'd been wearing gloves all the time I was there, so I knew there wouldn't be any prints. I took the tea things, washed them, and put them back in the drainer. I was wearing her rubber gloves then. I looked around upstairs and found her office with all the ledgers. I found the latest one, tore out all the pages since Mum had taken out her loan, and put it back. I didn't have any tools to open the desk, and I had to hope there wasn't anything there with her name on it. I took the agreement, it was still on the coffee table in the living room. It was raining hard by that time, so I took the bat, hid it under my coat, and went out. I took the rubber gloves, too. It was late by then, I knew nobody saw me. I walked all the way home. When I got there, I burned the pages and the agreement. I chopped up the bat and burned that too, and the rubber gloves. I washed the coat and gloves again and got rid of them to a jumble sale a couple of days later. I put the cosh back in the evidence room next morning. It hadn't been missed.

"Then I just had to wait and watch you and your clowns running around in circles, trying to solve the murder committed by a detective. I felt so clever, so powerful. As Mum and I have different surnames, I guessed you wouldn't work out that we're related. She told me Emily was dead and that you'd been to see her, and I pretended to be surprised. She never suspected a thing. When I knew you'd be desperate, I rang you and offered you information. You know the rest. You should have come alone. If you had, I'd have got you."

"A good team is built on trust." Alex was stern and cold. "DCI Hunt trusts his team with his life. As we trust him."

Kingston looked at her with huge eyes. "You know I've told you the truth. Will you leave my mother alone now?"

"Yes, Colin." For the first time, she allowed some gentleness to creep into her voice. "I believe we can."

"Just one thing more," Gene said heavily. "I know why you wanted to kill me, and you bloody nearly succeeded. But why did you try to shoot Drake? She was unarmed."

Kingston looked scared, his former defiance ebbing away. "I saw I wasn't going to get you, and I thought, if I got her instead, you'd be as good as dead anyway. Everyone knows you're mad about her."

"BASTARD!" Gene leapt to his feet, but Alex laid a hand on his arm, and with a superhuman effort he managed to check himself.

"Not worth the effort of scraping you off the carpet," he snarled, resuming his seat beside Alex.

Kingston's face crumpled, and he burst into tears. "I'm sorry… sorry. I'm not sorry about Emily. She deserved what she got. But I'm sorry about you, Ma'am… really I am… shouldn't have done it…" He hid his face in his arms on the table and sobbed.

"Bit late for that," Gene said grimly. "Colin Kingston, you are charged with the murder of Emily Maitland on the eighth of October, 1984 and the attempted murder of DCI Gene Hunt and DI Alex Drake on the seventeeth of October, 1984…"

-oO0Oo-

Gene, Alex and Keats stood together in the corridor. Kingston, still blubbering, had been taken down to the cells and Nokes had departed, an unhappy man. They had their result, yet Gene felt strangely unvictorious, and he knew that Alex felt the same.

"A textbook interview, I think you'll agree," she said crisply to Keats, whose face was as long as King Douglas Lane.

"Yes," Keats agreed morosely. "I'll telephone Longton and tell him what's happened. It'll be a blow for him, so soon after losing Conroy and Harshaw."

"Looks like you're at the wrong station, James. Better try your Countryman tactics on the Fenchurch West lot for a change," Gene said sourly. Keats looked daggers at him and walked away without a word. Gene and Alex walked back to the CID office, and as they came through the double doors together, the team stood to give them an ovation. Except for Ray, who had been slumbering peacefully at his desk and fell off his chair when the applause started.

"Raymondo, what the hell are you doin' on the floor? If you want to sleep on the job, you can join the fire brigade!"

"Sorry, Guv." Ray hauled himself back into his chair, yawning fit to spilt his head. "Didn't get any sleep last night. I stayed with Kingston all the time till he was brought in 'ere."

"But I told you to get plod to 'elp you, you daft apology for a DI!"

"I know, Guv." Another yawn. "But the hospital staff wouldn't 'ave known who our boys are. I didn't want to risk some plod from Fenchurch West claiming to be one of ours and getting Kingston away while I wasn't looking."

Gene's tense face relaxed into a grin. "Well done, Ray." He clapped his semi-conscious DI on the shoulder, nearly sweeping him off the chair again. "Go 'ome an' 'ave your sleep out. We'll save you a bottle of 'ouse rubbish, an' you can do your statement tomorrow."

Ray was too exhausted to argue. "Thanks, Guv."

Gene turned to the others. "RIGHT! We've got a result, but that doesn't mean the rest of the criminal population of London takes the day off. Back to work, you lazy bastards. We'll celebrate at beer o'clock."

-oO0Oo-

About an hour later, Alex saw a tall, silver-haired man whom she did not know, entering Gene's office. A couple of minutes later, Gene opened the door and called, "Lady Bols! In 'ere a minute."

She obeyed. The stranger was sitting in the chair opposite the desk, and rose when she entered the room.

"Drake, this is DCI Donald Longton, Fenchurch West. He wants to apologise in person for the conduct of 'is DC."

Longton held out his hand, and Alex took it. "Pleased to meet you, DI Drake. I could only wish it was in happier circumstances. I want to stress to both of you that I had absolutely no idea of Kingston's guilt in this matter until DCI Keats informed me this morning. I utterly disown him and wish to apologise to both of you wholeheartedly for what he has done."

"Thank you," Alex said quietly. "You can't always be held responsible for the actions of your officers."

"Unhappily, I feel I _am_ responsible. I will certainly be held so by the Assistant Commissioner."

"You're a good Guv, Donald." Gene dug his hands in his pockets. "You can't 'elp having inherited a sick station."

"I've just been down to the cells to see Kingston, to let him know how angry, shocked and disappointed I am. His only concern seems to be for his mother. It'll be my unhappy duty to tell her what he has done, and I don't relish the prospect."

"Leave that to us," Gene said gruffly.

"Thank you. If you would."

"Sure. Thanks for coming, Donald. We appreciate it. I'll see you out."

Alex returned to her desk, deep in thought. A few minutes later, she looked up from a file to see Viv approaching.

"Sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. It's Kingston. He's asked if he can see you. He's very badly upset. I told him he had no right to ask, but - "

She hesitated only for a moment, then nodded and rose from her desk. Passing through the swing doors and into the corridor, they encountered Gene, returning from seeing Longton out.

"Where are you going, Drake?"

"Kingston wants to see me." She sounded calmer than she felt.

"What 'e wants isn't what 'e'll get."

Alex looked mutinous. "I'm going."

Gene looked at Viv. "Skip. Desk."

"Yes, Sir." Viv, clearly relieved to be getting away from what was shaping up to be a classic Guv/Boss row, walked briskly down the corridor and through the swing doors.

Gene waited until they were alone before turning back to Alex.

"You are _not_ getting within a hundred yards of 'im, an' I am saying this as your superior officer!"

"Guv, I have to go. He's distraught."

"You aren't just out of your tree, you're out of the whole bloody orchard! You heard 'im this morning. He planned two _executions_, as coldly and efficiently as any psycho we've ever taken down. Have you forgotten what 'e tried to do to both of us, only thirteen hours ago?"

"I shall never forget it." Alex had gone very white. "Understand me. I hold no brief for Kingston. The very thought of him makes me sick. Last night he tried to destroy the only thing I hold dear in this world. You. If, God forbid it, he had succeeded, then killing me as well would have been an act of pure kindness. I would have had nothing left to live for. But he isn't a psychopath. He's like a kid who has been playing at murders, playing at being powerful, and now he's faced with the consequences of his actions, reality has come up and hit him hard."

"Not as hard as I'd like to hit 'im."

"For once, I'd like to hold your coat while you did it. But we can't. He's in a very precarious emotional state. He's only just realised the full horror of what he's done, and he doesn't recognise himself any longer. He's terrified, and he needs help."

"All too bloody easy for 'im to snivel that 'e needs 'elp until you get close enough, then 'e could try an' strangle you."

"Oh, well, Guv, if you want to risk a suicide, or even an attempted suicide, in our cells! Just think how Keats would love that."

There was a long silence, then Gene took a deep breath. "You think it could be that bad?"

"Might be. He didn't tell Viv why he needs to see me."

Another silence. "Then I'm going with you. No arguments."

Alex opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind and nodded.

-oO0Oo-

Viv unlocked the cell door, and Alex walked in, with Gene close behind her. Kingston sat on the narrow bed, his coat around his shoulders, his wounded leg sticking out in front of him and his crutch by his side. His tie and the belt of his coat had been taken away. His face was hidden in his hands, and he did not react in any way to their arrival.

"Colin?" Alex took one step forward. "It's DI Drake. You asked to see me."

He slowly raised his head and started in fear as he took in Gene, leaning against the door, his arms folded.

"No need to worry." Alex had never heard Gene sound so grim. "I'm 'ere as insurance. You can't lay a finger on 'er while I'm 'ere, an' I can't lay a finger on you while she's 'ere. Checks an' balances."

"Why did you ask to see me?" Alex tried to keep the loathing from her voice.

"Thank you for coming, Ma'am. I know I don't deserve anything from you, after what I've done - "

"Oh, I dunno," Gene muttered. "Two lovely black eyes - a few broken bones - a cracked rib or six - " Alex impatiently motioned to him to be silent.

"What I'm asking isn't for me," Kingston went on. "I told you everything so's you wouldn't question my mother, but I know that now I've confessed, she'll find out anyway. My Guv will tell her. He'll have to."

"He's left that 'appy task to us."

"Has he?" Kingston looked up. "Then - will you be the one to tell her, Ma'am? Please. She said how good you were to her, when you visited her to interview her."

"I will. For her," Alex said quietly.

"It'll kill her." His tears began to fall again. "She might not have very long anyway, but if she finds out what I did for her, it'll break her heart. I want her to die easy in her mind. I'm going to plead guilty, so there won't be a trial. Please, is there anything you can do stop her knowing I did it?"

"I'm sorry, I really don't think - "

"Listen up." Gene's voice cut through the atmosphere of the cell like a knife. "Van's on the way to take you to Wandsworth. I'll ring the governer. When you get there you'll be allowed a phone call. Ring your Mum an' tell 'er you've been posted to a new unit being set up in Manchester to deal with terrorism. You've 'ad to go right away to take the place of someone who's dropped out through illness. It's an honour for you to 'ave been asked. It's secret work so you can't tell 'er much about it. You'll ring 'er again, an' write to 'er, when you've settled down." He had been scribbling on a piece of paper from his pocket as he spoke. "Take this." He threw the piece of paper on the bed. "Address of an old colleague in Manchester. When you write to your Mum, put the letter in its envelope, with 'er address, an' then put it in a _second_ envelope, to the lady at this address. She'll send it on. Then your letters'll 'ave a Manchester postmark when your Mum gets 'em."

Kingston reached for the paper. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, so sorry…" He hid his face in his hands.

"Sorry for what?" Gene barked. "For being caught?"

"No. I know I'll get what's coming to me. I deserve it. It was just like a game at first, planning Emily's murder, a cop running rings around cops. I thought killing her would be easy. I hated her so much, and I've seen so many violent deaths. But it was different when I was the killer. Then I thought, the first one must be the hardest, and the second would be easier. I kept telling myself that, all the time I was planning it, but it wasn't true. I'm glad it's all over. Maybe now, I'll be able to close my eyes without seeing Emily falling, and all the blood."

"Don't count on it." Gene's voice was as merciless as falling snow on a plain with no shelter. "You're a killer wi' a conscience. Your mind'll be your own sentence. Jail comes as part of the package."

"Yes. But if Mum will be all right - I think I can take it. Thank you."

"Any other reasons for detaining the lady 'ere any longer?"

"No. Except - I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Right." Gene banged on the door, Viv unlocked it, and they left.

"Van'll be here for him shortly, Sir."

"Thanks, Skip."

Alex leaned against the wall for a moment.

"You OK?"

"Yes." She straightened up. "What a mess. Another life destroyed by the fallout from Operation Rose."

"Yeah, an' the rot from Rose goes right back to Mac."

"And Summers, and Carnegie. And Kingston's tragedy is that he started all this for the sake of two people he loves."

"His tragedy is that it wasn't 'is Mum who's the Wicked Witch of Fenchurch West. It was Poison Emily."

"Wha - ? Oh, yes. Margaret Hamilton."

"An' that 'e didn't close 'is murderous career after killing Emily. I 'ate to say it, but we might never 'ave nailed 'im if 'e 'adn't tried to get revenge for Carnegie too. He'd covered 'is tracks too well."

Alex sighed. "It goes to show, Carnegie must have had some good qualities, to inspire such loyalty."

"Bollocks, Bolly. Carnegie slipped 'im bungs an' gave 'im an' Conroy an easy time, so's to conceal 'is criminal activities. Longton'll 'ave made 'im _work_ for 'is living."

"All the same, Ray said that Margaret remarried after Kingston's father died. He looked on Carnegie as a father figure. No girlfriend, a mummy's boy." She looked Gene in the eye. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you help him?"

"Same reason as I concealed that Gaynor Mason was George Staines with a sex change. It's not 'is Mum's fault she loves 'im."

Alex tucked her arm through his. "I thought so. And in helping his mother, you've given him a reason to go on living. He'll need that in time to come. A cop in prison. Was that Annie's address you gave him?"

"Yeah. I'll phone 'er an' explain. Don't think she'll begrudge me a few first class stamps. It might not work. His Mum might read a news report, or one of Emily's other clients might tell 'er. But, you're right, it gives 'im something to go on."

Viv appeared at the end of the corridor. "Van's here for Kingston, Guv."

"Ta, Skip. See you later, Bols. I've got to ring the governer at Wandsworth, make sure Kingston gets permision to make that phone call." He raced off, and Alex followed. She did not want to see Kingston hobbling out of the station.

As she walked along the corridor to the CID office, she remembered that she had left a pen in the interview room. She nipped in there to retrieve it, and as she emerged, she found Keats standing at the far end of the corridor.

"Alex."

"Jim."

"Are you feeling all right now? You had a rough time last night."

"Yes, thanks. Just some bruises." _And some of those were inflicted by Gene. Lucky nobody can see what I did to him._ Keats looked at her very intensely, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he could tell exactly what she was thinking.

"I can't say how sorry I am about the choice you've made. You could have escaped from this place. Instead you've been subsumed into it."

Alex faced him. "Before you came, someone else offered me the chance to leave, but the price was that I would have to be a traitor to the Force and to my team. I refused. I knew then, and I know now, that if leaving here means destroying people I love, it isn't worth it."

Gene emerged from the swing doors at the other end of the corridor. Seeing Alex and Keats, he stopped and waited. Alex stood in the middle of the corridor, exactly halfway between the two men. Slowly and deliberately, she turned and walked towards Gene.

"Alex!" Keats shouted behind her. "You could have gone home!"

She reached Gene, put her arms around his neck, and looked back to Keats. "You don't understand, Jim. I have come home."

"Alex!"

"Oh, visit the taxidermist, Jimbo." Gene radiated triumph. "Take your 'ands out of your pockets, an' for God's sake, buy a new coat. You look like a flasher."

"Alex! I could help you!"

She shook her head. "Thank you, Jim. But I can help myself."

Keats frowned ferociously. "It seems you _have_ helped yourself, and pretty freely too!"

He turned on his heel and swept out, his despised coat billowing behind him.

**TBC**

**A/N We know from Episode 2 that Keats's musical tastes include Elvis Costello, Philip Glass and Gustav Mahler, but I've shamelessly cribbed his parting shot from Gilbert and Sullivan's "Iolanthe".**


	9. Plans, Visits and Explanations

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes. If I did, we'd have had more Galex in Series 3!**

**Well, last week I promised you one more chapter, but it's grown so long (with lots more left to do) that I've had to split it into two. So here's chapter 9, and I'll post Chapter 10 when it's finished - hopefully NEXT weekend, but I have to do an overdue music review in the meantime. Not so much incident in this episode as there have been in the past two chapters because this was only going to be half a chapter, but I hope it'll do to be going on with. **

**Yet again, thank you to everyone who's taking the trouble to read, and especially those who are reviewing - your feedback keeps me going!**

Alex moved into Gene's house the following weekend. She was surprised to find how much she had accumulated in the three years she had lived in the flat. A few small pieces of furniture which she had bought to add to those already in the flat when she arrived, ornaments, books, LPs, magazines, video tapes, a couple of pictures, mounds of clothes, makeup, jewellery, a few other odds and ends, plus quite a lot of Gene's belongings which had found their way there over the past eight months. Gene initially contemplated piling everything into the Quattro, but rather than risk damaging the paintwork with a roof rack, he hired a small van which took everything in one journey. He said nothing about a small, locked box which she stowed in the sideboard while unpacking. He strongly suspected that it contained her tapes, one of which had caused their disastrous rift. There were still so many unanswered questions about that terrible time, but he would not risk their relationship by raising them again. He trusted her, and that was all that mattered.

He insisted upon paying the next quarter's rent on the flat, and made it clear to her that she was free to move back there if she wished. He did not want her to feel trapped in his house. But to his surprise, the only night they spent there after she moved out, was after a massive piss-up to celebrate nailing a noted criminal family, when both had been too far gone even to contemplate driving the Quattro. Awakening the following morning with her, in the familiar bed, amid the satin sheets, beneath the red duvet, he had feared that she would realise how much she had missed her old home. But she said nothing, and when they got back to his house that evening, she remarked that it was good to be home again.

"I, um, I thought you might still think of the flat as your 'ome, Bols," he said awkwardly.

"I did once," she replied gently. "But that was when I was still expecting to leave. It was a place to stay while waiting to move on somewhere else, like a transit hotel. I'm starting a new life, here, with you. A new beginning. This is my home now. I've told you before, _you_ are my home. That's what matters."

He was surprised to see that, shortly after moving in, she put her memory book in a drawer and rarely looked at it thereafter. When he ventured to ask her why, she smiled sadly and said, "I'll always be grateful to you for giving it to me, and I'll treasure the memories I've written in there as long as I live. But, as both you and Juanita have told me, we have to live our lives to the full, to celebrate the people we have loved and lost. If I cling to my memories too much, I'll waste my life on them. I have to move on. Thanks to you, I know now that Molly will be here in my heart, and in my book, whenever I need to find her."

With her living there, his formerly dark house felt full of light and warmth. For the first time ever, he found himself looking forward to getting home at night. With her. The sight of her belongings all over the place, mingled with his, was a constant, glorious reminder of her presence, and although she persuaded him that the house did not need any large scale redecoration, a through cleanup and a number of small changes and additions to the décor improved its appearance no end.

Christmas was coming, and he was determined to make it a good one for them. Their first together, in _their _home. He had already booked leave for them both from Christmas to New Year, and he was big with plans. He might have had no idea of what to buy her for her birthday, but now he was brimming with ideas for Christmas. That silk scarf she had admired in Selfridges. A flagon of her favourite perfume. Some lacy, naughty, very sexy underwear which he had spotted when they had raided the sex shop next door. That lovely porcelain figurine she had pointed out in the window of an antique shop in Shepherd's Market. But above all he wanted to give her something which would define her as his.

It was time to pay another visit to his old friend John Fraser in Leather Lane.

-oO0Oo-

"Mr Hunt!" The silversmith, a slim, white-haired man with a slight stoop, looked up from the elegant tray on his workbench, removed his jeweller's loupe, and came forward to greet his customer. "It's been a long time. How are you?"

"I'm doin' well, thanks, John, an 'ow's yourself?"

"Well too, thank you. As you see, I still have a business, thanks to you and your team. If you hadn't found my stock after that robbery, I'd have lost so many orders that I'd have been bankrupt. Do tell me, did DI Drake like the charm bracelet I made for her?"

"Very much, she thinks it's great. Only problem is, if she wears it on duty, the criminal scum of London can 'ear 'er coming 'alf a mile off. That's why I'm back 'ere, to find something she can wear all the time if she wants, that'll go with the bracelet."

"A necklet or a pendant, perhaps?"

"Yeah."

"Perhaps a St Christopher, or - "

"_NO!_"

Fraser lifted an inquiring eyebrow. Gene pulled himself together.

"Not that." His voice was husky. "A colleague of mine - good friend - always used to wear a St Christopher. Didn't stop the dozy twonk driving 'is car into the river when 'e was chasing a blagger. Never found 'is body."

"I see. I'm sorry." Fraser went behind the counter and drew out two large trays, divided into small compartments, each containing a different silver pendant. "I have a large collection here. Maybe one of these will suit?"

Gene pored over them for some time, but none of them seemed quite right. If he gave her any one of these on a chain, it would just seem like a poor imitation of the charm bracelet. Fraser tactfully went back to his work, but after about a quarter of an hour he returned to the counter.

"Nothing here, then?"

Gene shook his head. "No."

Fraser removed the trays. "I find that these are very popular. I sell a lot of them as birthstones." As he spoke, he produced another tray. Each compartment contained an oval gem about a quarter of an inch long, in a deep silver setting, on a delicate chain.

The prospect of a single silver-framed jewel, glittering at Alex's slender throat, appealed to Gene. "Yes. We'll make it one of these."

"Which do you think she would prefer?"

Gene's first thought was the sparkling ruby, the colour of the Quattro and of the dress she had been wearing when they first met. But something teased at the back of his mind. "Isn't the ruby the birthstone for July?"

"Yes, it is."

_Molly's birthday._ "Not that, then."

"What month is her birthday?"

"February."

"The amythest." Fraser pointed to the vivid purple stone.

"Not that, it won't go with 'alf of what she wears." He was just about to ask if Fraser had a diamond, when Fraser looked closely at Gene and then at the tray, extracted one pendant, and placed it in front of him.

"This, I think. The blue topaz."

Gene stared at it. The sky-blue stone was pretty, and had the virtue of not clashing with anything she wore, but he could not understand why Fraser should be so certain. "Why?"

"Trust me, Mr Hunt. This is the right one."

"But 'ow do you know? Do you remember what she looks like?"

"Oh, yes, very well. An extremely beautiful lady, tall and slim, with brown hair and hazel eyes. Very striking."

"You can say that again." Gene rubbed his jaw. "I've 'ad 'er left an' right 'ooks before now."

"I am sure that this one will suit her in every way."

Gene looked at the pendant again, and decided to accept Fraser's professional judgement. The man had spent a lifetime making and selling this stuff, so he should know what he was talking about. "Okay, I'll take it. What's the price?"

"£20." Fraser placed the pendant in a gift box.

"That all?" Gene was almost disappointed. He had wanted to buy Alex something expensive.

Fraser smiled. "Mr Hunt, if I wanted to make a profit out of you I would have directed you to the dearest jewel in the tray. But I believe that this is the one that will please your lady most."

"Ta." Gene reached for his wallet, extracted two £10 notes, handed them to Fraser, and pocketed the box.

"Are you sure that this is all you want to buy her?" Fraser said gently.

"Yes. Why?"

"I was wondering if you were thinking of a ring. Not that I could help you with that, but I could give you the names of a couple of colleagues who would give you a good price. Still, I imagine that, in your profession, you must know a good many grateful jewellers who, like myself, owe their livelihoods to your efforts."

Gene blushed to the roots of his golden locks. "Yes. Yes, I do. But no, I don't need that, thanks."

"Pardon me if I've spoken out of turn. It's been good seeing you again, Mr Hunt."

Gene made his escape from the shop as soon as he decently could, desperately conscious of his inability to hide his embarrassment. Of _course_ he didn't need a ring. The very idea of proposing to Alex was ludicrous. She'd had a bad time with her ex-husband, and she certainly didn't want to be tied to a hard-boozing, smokestacking, violent, filthy-tempered, foul-mouthed, lardy collection of anti-social habits, with his own failed marriage behind him. If he proposed, then at best, she'd laugh at him, and at worst, she might back off and he would lose everything he had built up so carefully over the past nine months.

On the other hand_, _during that time, they had survived the daily friction of living together, first at her place and then at his; the greater friction of working together, with the constant disagreements and quarrels; the trauma and grief over Molly's death; the stress of the shoot-out with Kingston; and their admissions that they loved each other. He knew that many relationships had floundered on far less.

But she wouldn't want to marry him. Of course not.

-oO0Oo-

A couple of weeks later, Gene rang the doorbell of a small terraced house which he and Alex had visited during the Maitland investigation. The tiny lady who opened the door seemed to light up at the sight of him.

"Morning, Mrs Kay. DCI Gene Hunt, CID. Don't know if you remember me."

"Of course I do! You're the kind policeman who gave me the rug. Please come in!"

He followed her into the house. The living room, previously so dark and bare, was warm and cosy.

"Do sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll make us both some tea."

"Let me 'elp, you, love. I can carry the tray for you."

"Oh, thank you!"

He followed her out to the kitchen. Over and above his usual covert kindness in helping little old ladies, he had an ulterior motive.

"Shall I be findin' you some biscuits, while you're doin' the tea, love?"

"What's your favourite?"

"Garibaldis?"

"Should be some in the cupboard. Help yourself."

He found the packet and took a quick look around the cupboard. It wasn't exactly bursting with food, but there was a reasonable amount of provisions for a small old lady. _So she isn't starving herself any more._

He carried the tray into the living room for her, and sat on the sofa while she poured the tea.

"So, things are better for you since we were 'ere last?"

"Oh, yes!" She handed him his cup. "Everything's changed since you came. It started to get better right away because Emily and Ron weren't taking my pension. It's awful to feel so glad that someone's dead, but I was. I am. I had enough to get food, and I could put a bit by for the electricity bill. I thought, if I could give them some money, maybe they'd give me more time to pay the rest of the bill. I was scared for a long time that Ron might come back and take everything, but I haven't seen him again."

"That's because 'e's in jail. Harassment, money with menaces, an' aiding an' abetting an unlicensed money lender."

"Really? Well, I got back on my feet financially, and things got better in other ways too. I'd been so lonely since my Ken died, but now I have friends again. Mr Shah looks in every day now, to see if I'm all right, and so does Mrs Laker. She visited me shortly after you did, and said she felt guilty about not having gone to the police about Emily's loan business, though I don't see what she could have done. But now she calls in most days too, and she's been helping some of Emily's other clients. She's told me that poor Mrs Hamilton isn't very well. Her son's gone away to a new job, and she misses him dreadfully."

"Oh."

"Then suddenly I got all my money back. Not just the interest, the original £50 Emily lent me as well. Hundred and hundreds of pounds. I've never had so much money in my life! So now I've been able to pay my bills and I can heat the house and cook again. Mr Shah knew someone who was selling a secondhand TV, so I bought it, and I've got a radio too. I can't believe it! How on earth could such a thing happen?"

"It's called a restitution order, love. Emily's operation was illegal, and she'd never spent any of the money. Ron would 'ave inherited. But when I wrapped up the case, I recommended that all 'er clients should get their money back, an' the court agreed with me."

"So it's all because of you?"

"It was my recommendation, but it was the judge who decided. If 'e'd said no, I couldn't 'ave done anything."

"I can never thank you enough. I can give you your rug back now, I'm lovely and warm. It was a lifesaver when I couldn't turn the fire on."

"Never mind about that. You might need it again sometime, say if there's a power cut."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I've got another. Your gift from the Genie."

"Thank you, you are kind. You say you've wrapped up the case? Does that mean you've found out who killed Emily?"

"That's right. Someone else who'd borrowed money from 'er. He's awaiting trial. He tried to kill me an' DI Drake too."

"You mean that lovely girl who came with you before?" Mrs Kay was shocked.

"That's right. She's well, sends 'er regards."

"Then I hope he gets all he deserves," she said severely. "Thank you so much for coming to see me, and for telling me all this."

"Well, I did 'ave another reason for coming." Gene reached into his pocket. "When we opened Emily's safe, we found some of your property inside. 'Old out your 'ands." She obeyed, mystified, and he produced an evidence bag, opened, it, and poured the contents into her cupped hands. She gave a cry of delight.

"My rings - the crucifix - Ken's cuff links! I thought she'd sold them!"

"She lied." Gene radiated satisfaction. "She'd kept 'em all in 'er safe."

There were tears in her eyes. "I thought I'd never see them again. I can't tell you how much these things mean to me."

"That's why I wanted to return 'em to their rightful owner, in person."

She slipped the wedding ring on her finger. "This had never left my hand since my Ken put it there, until Emily took it. Now it'll never leave me again. He always wore this crucifix, since before I knew him, and I'd worn it since he died." She fastened it around her neck. "I gave him these cuff links for our golden wedding, shortly before he died. My last gift to him." She looked at Gene. "Will you do one more thing for me?"

"If I can, love."

She took his hand, put the engagement ring in his palm, and closed his fingers over it. "Take this and give it to that beautiful girl."

Gene turned as red as the Quattro. "Oh, er, I can't do that - "

"Please," she said earnestly. "You've both done so much for me."

"That was just doin' our jobs."

"I don't have anyone to leave it to. I hadn't worn it in years, so it doesn't mean so much to me. It was the wedding ring and the crucifix that I missed most. I want this to go where it'll be appreciated, and I could see when the two of you were here, how you looked at each other."

"No, sorry, love, I can't."

"I know Ken would have approved. He was a copper too, you know. Not a detective like you, a sergeant. I remember the first time I saw him, walking into the office. I was a typist at his station, Snow Hill. He looked so handsome in his uniform, and I never thought he'd notice me, but he gave me the glad eye, and a couple of weeks later he asked me out to the cinema. Neither of us had eyes for anyone else after that. Sixty years we were together. If I don't give it to you, I don't know what will happen to it when I'm gone."

"Thanks, love, that's kind. But there's very strict rules about police accepting gifts from members of the public. Been a bit of trouble lately with coppers feathering their own nests."

"Oh, dear, I didn't know that. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble."

"I know you wouldn't. An' besides that, the money you got back from Emily won't last forever, an' you might need a new cooker or another repair to your boiler sometime." He put the ring in her hand and closed her fingers over it. "Save this for a rainy day. That's your best way of thankin' us."

"If you're sure - "

"I am."

"Then, thank you, I will. But you will get a ring for your girlfriend, won't you?"

"I, er, I've no idea if she wants one."

Mrs Kay smiled "Take it from one who knows. She does."

Gene blushed again. "Afraid I'll 'ave to go. More criminal scum to catch."

"Oh, of course. Thank you again for coming. And if you do propose to her and she says yes, please tell me when the wedding is, and I'll wait outside the church with a box of confetti. I love weddings."

Gene muttered something unintelligible and escaped. _First Fraser tells me I should be getting Bolly a ring, now it's an old bird I could pick up with one hand. What _is_ it with all these people?_

After a few moments' reflection, he turned the Quattro away from the route back to Fenchurch East, and stopped outside another small terraced house a few streets away. The old lady who answered the doorbell was leaning heavily on a stick, and she looked washed out with pain and fatigue.

"Mrs Hamilton? Sorry to trouble you, love. Gene Hunt, CID." He showed his warrant card. "My colleague, DI Drake, came to see you a couple of weeks back about the murder of Emily Maitland."

"Yes, I remember. Come in." He had seen that listlessness before. When Alex had been overwhelmed by grief over losing Molly.

She led him through to the lounge. "Please take a seat. Can I offer you tea? Coffee?" The words fell mechanically from her lips.

"No, ta. Can't stay long."

She lowered herself heavily into an armchair. "So, what can I do for you? I told the young lady everything last time."

"I know. It's just that there's been a restitution order on Mrs Maitland's money, an' we're doin' a spot check to see everyone's got their cash back."

"Oh, yes. It's all been paid back to me. It's a great relief, being out of debt again." She seemed to be striving to show an interest in something. "Have you got the person who did it?"

"Yeah. Bloke calling 'imself Frank Taylor. He'd borrowed from 'er to pay off a gambling debt."

She looked at him. "You're police. Can you tell me something?"

"If I can."

"Have you heard anything about a new anti-terrorism unit in Manchester?"

"Yes, I 'ave. A former colleague in the GMP told me about it. I'm a Manchester man myself. Why d'you ask? Not a secret agent, are you, love?" Hie eyes twinkled.

"Of course not! It's just that my son was transferred there at short notice, four weeks ago, and he's barely been in touch with me since. It's so unlike him. Do you know if they're all right there?"

"Oh, yes," he said reassuringly. "It's a very élite unit, so I 'ear. Your boy must be a bright lad to get into it."

"It's so strange. He hasn't telephoned me often, and when he does, he always says that he can't talk for very long, and there's a lot of noise in the background. It sounds like a very rowdy place."

"Ah, well, my colleague told me they aren't workin' in the Greater Manchester Police building, where I used to be. They're out at an undisclosed address in the sticks."

"You - you don't think he'd be in any danger, do you?"

"Oh, no, they aren't workin' in the front line. This is intelligence work. Got to be isolated to make sure none of their information gets out to the terrorists. IRA, Baader-Meinhof, Black September, all the bad boys."

She sighed with relief. "Thank you so much. He's been telling me so little, and it worries me. He's always been such a good boy, and I was afraid that he might be in some kind of trouble."

"He wouldn't be allowed to tell you anything. This is secret work. You should be very proud of your lad. He's 'elping protect the country." He rose. " Afraid I've got to go, got more people to see."

She tried to stand, but subsided back into the chair, gasping. Gene spotted a bottle of pills on the coffee table and picked them up. "Easy, love. These what you need?" She nodded, and he opened the bottle, extracted one, and pressed it into her hand. She swallowed it, and he held her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to support her. After a few moments, her breathing eased, and she leaned against him. He stayed with her, holding her, until she could speak again.

"Thank you. I'm sorry - "

"No need."

"I get so emotional when I think of my Colin. He's all I have, and now he's working in Manchester I don't know when I'll see him again. I miss him so, so much."

"D'you want me to call a doctor?"

"No, I'll be all right now." _I doubt it_, Gene thought, looking at her grey face and pinched, white lips.

"Anyone else? Neighbour? Shouldn't leave you on your own."

"I often get these turns now. I'll be all right. Dora should be here soon."

He piled cushions around her head and shoulders and covered her with a blanket. "Okay, love. You just rest an' make yourself comfortable. I'll see myself out."

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mrs Hamilton stirred. "That'll be Dora."

"Stay there. I'll let 'er in."

Mrs Laker looked shocked to see Gene answering the door. "Mr Hunt, isn't it? Whatever are you doing here? Is Margaret all right?"

"Glad you're 'ere. She's 'ad a bad turn."

Mrs Laker brushed past him and hurried into the living room. Gene, waiting outside, heard her voice, calm and soothing, and Margaret's, weak and weary. A few minutes later, she emerged.

"She's asleep now. Thank you. Might I have a word?" Gene nodded, and they moved into the kitchen.

"First, might I ask why you were here?"

"Sure. There's a restitution order on Emily Maitland's estate, an' I've been checking that everyone's got their money back."

She nodded. "I received £5. I was one of the lucky ones. She didn't charge me enough to ruin my life."

"Might I ask why you're 'ere?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Because when you and your friend visited me, it brought home to me how selfish I had been, escaping Emily unscathed while others suffered. I've created a routine of checking on those who have suffered most like Margaret and Mavis, seeing that they're all right, doing shopping for them, that sort of thing. Call it a way of working out my guilt."

"Yeah, Mrs Kay told me you'd been doin' a Good Samaritan. Mrs Hamilton's in a bad way. D'you know if she's getting any 'elp from the Council? Home 'elp or health visitor, maybe?"

Mrs Laker shook her head. "I've tried to persuade her to apply, but she's been adamant that she doesn't need assistance. I can try again. Now that her son's away, maybe she'll agree at last." She looked at him very hard. "So, have you found out who killed Emily?"

"Yeah. One Frank Taylor. Owed 'er money for a gambling debt."

"That's strange." Her voice dropped lower. "I'd read in my paper that the name of the murderer was Colin Kingston."

"Anyone who tells Mrs Hamilton that, ends up in a corned beef can."

"Absolutely." Their eyes met in a look of complete understanding. "Luckily I took her out to bingo that evening, so she didn't watch the news on the TV, and I spilt coffee over her newspaper."

Gene nodded. "Careless of you. Thanks."

He drove back to the station, deep in thought. _Why is it always the innocent who suffer?_

-oO0Oo-

It was early December when Alex returned from a Christmas shopping expedition one Saturday morning, to find Gene sitting cross-legged on the sofa with scissors and a pot of Lion Gum, happily making paper chains from old magazines. There was already a pile of chains on the coffee table in front of him.

"You're starting early on the decorations, I see." She ruffled his hair.

"Yeah." He looked awkward. "My brother an' I used to make these when we were kids."

She nodded. "Wartime. You used whatever you could get."

"S'right. Don't look very smart, but - "

"I think it's a lovely idea," she said warmly, sitting on the sofa beside him. "When I was a little girl I used to make Christmas decorations at school, and brought them home to decorate our house. Once it was a star so big that it nearly brought the tree down."

"I thought we'd 'ave a big tree over there by the window. Lots of lights."

"A Nativity crib on the sideboard. Angel chimes."

"Plenty of holly an' mistletoe, right where I can grab you an 'ave my wicked way with you."

"You don't need holly and mistletoe for that."

"Turkey an' all the trimmings, with pud to follow. Mince pies."

"I'll make the pudding, but I'll buy the mince pies. The last time I made any, they all exploded in the oven. Nasty mess. You do realise that if the two of us have turkey, we'll be using it up for days? Even if I get the butcher to give me the smallest crown he has."

"No problem. We'll 'ave turkey sandwiches on Boxing Day, and send what's left to the station for CID to pick over."

"You are getting into the seasonal spirit, aren't you? Last year you tried to ban the festive season altogether. What made you change your mind so completely about Christmas?"

It was the question Gene had been dreading all year. To change the subject, he jerked his head towards the sideboard. "We've got a card from Annie."

"How is she?"

"Okay. She's suggested we visit 'er sometime next year, when the weather's better." He tried not to watch her reaction too closely. "Would you like to?"

"If you would, then I would." She curled up against him. "I've heard so much about your Manchester years, I'd love to see where it all happened and meet some of the people. Maybe we could meet up with Jackie. Visit the GMP, have a drink at the Railway Arms - "

"Yeah, last time I saw Nelson 'e said there'd be a pint waiting for me on the bar." He felt rather uneasy at the thought of meeting Nelson again, after their encounter last Christmas Eve. _Would he let on that he took me to see little Alex's party, and Bolly seeing her daughter's ghost and having dinner with Chris and Shaz? Or would he think I'm mad?_ "I, um, I was thinkin' you could meet my Mam, too."

"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful!"

"An' Annie's always happy to meet anyone who knew Sam."

He felt her stiffen beside him. "Have you told her I knew him?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

She stood and walked across to the fireplace. "It's - difficult." Her voice was muffled. He sat very still.

"Don't tell me anything you don't want to."

She turned, came back to him, pushed the pile of paper chains aside, and sat on the coffee table, facing him.

"No. I think I should try to tell you, now. As best I can. It's been between us ever since Operation Rose. I don't want there to be any more room for misunderstanding between us. If I lost you now, I couldn't bear it."

"I told you, the night we got together. You aren't losin' me, ever again."

"I've told you that I was Sam's psychologist."

"Yes?"

Her hands twisted nervously. "When I knew him, he'd been in a bad road accident. He'd been in a coma for some time."

"He never mentioned that to us."

"No, he wouldn't. When he recovered consciousness, his perception of reality had altered."

"Come again?"

"He felt that the place where he was, wasn't real. That he should be somewhere else, and he needed to get back there."

"That sounds like Sam. When 'e first joined us, he talked a lot about wanting to leave. Just like you did. All stopped after 'e married Annie."

"I was collecting material from colleagues who had suffered unusual traumas. He wrote a report and recorded several tapes, and sent them to me. We corresponded a couple of times, then I learned that he was dead."

"No wonder 'e never told us about any of this. I'd 'ave sent for the boys in white coats, an' Lord knows what it'd 'ave done to Annie. What was this home 'e thought 'e'd come from? Hyde?"

Alex looked at him, her eyes huge with something like terror. "The future."

Gene felt as though all the breath had left his body at once. "Ah…"

"When I received Sam's report, I was going through a bad time. Molly - " She could not speak for a moment. "I wanted _so much _to believe, as he did, that there was another place and time that I could get home to, where she was, away from the life I was living. Then, after he died, I came to join your team, to meet and work with the people he'd known and described. It - it was so easy for me to accept his belief that none of this was real. That none of _you_ were real."

"That's why you called us your imaginary constructs."

"Yes. Later, of course, I realised how wrong I was, but accepting that would have meant that there was no "future" to get back to" - she waggled her fingers - "and I couldn't bring myself to do that. Because of Molly." Gene nodded slowly. "Then Martin Summers came on the scene. I don't know if he truly believed that he came from the future, as Sam and I did, or whether he pretended to believe it, try to gain a hold over me. He broke into my flat at least once, so he may have heard my tapes and read my notes. We know that he stole one tape."

Gene nodded again. "Investigating team found 'is diary after 'e died. He believed it."

"As you know, he stalked me for some time before approaching me. He told me that he could help me return home, but that I would have to help him with Operation Rose. I knew then, that if I had to betray you to get home, the price would be too high. That was when I accepted that this is my reality. He left my tape with you, to drive a wedge between us, and when you asked me what it meant, I - " She hid her face in her hands. "I was a fool. You asked me for the truth, and in all honesty, I entrusted you with what I saw as the truth. How could I possibly have expected you to understand or accept what I said? I hurt you unimaginably and wrecked your trust in me. It drove us apart. That led to the shooting. I could have been killed and I could have destroyed you. We've had Keats on our backs ever since, because of what I did to you that day. I don't know how you'll ever be able to forgive me."

"That's all over now, Bols. Don't worry any more about it."

She took his hands in hers and gazed intently into his eyes. "My love, I want you to know that this is my only reality now. _You_ are my reality, my lifeline, my constant, all I have to live for. Now and forever. I can only beg you to believe me now, as I did then…" Tears were running down her face, and he scooped her off the table and onto his lap.

"S'okay, love. I believe you. Should 'ave known then that you wouldn't 'ave lied to me. My fault too. It's all over now. We're 'ere, together, an' that's what matters. Sam might 'ave been just as much of a fruitcake as you, but it was 'is fruitcaking that brought you to me. Stop cryin'. That's an order."

She wiped her eyes. "Do you see now, why I can't talk to Annie about Sam?"

"Yeah. We'll just tell 'er that you an' 'e corresponded on a case while 'e was at Hyde. Needn't tell 'er any more than that."

"Thank you," she whispered, laying her head on his chest and listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat while he rocked her gently. He felt a deep sense of peace at having at last learned the answers to the questions that had tormented him.

_So all this future bollocks was one of those shared delusion things. Nothing more than that. My poor Bolly. Fell for Sam's story like a ton of nutty slack, and it's caused her all this grief ever since. Been scared to tell me since we got together in case I rejected her again._

"All over now, Bolly love." He stroked her hair. "All over now."

**TBC**


	10. Christmas Again

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. If I did, I'd give it a happy ending. Which, after episode 6, is looking increasingly unlikely. **

**This really IS the final chapter. This fic started out as a one-shot, and has grown to become my longest yet. Many thanks to everyone who has kept with it all the way, and especially to those kind souls who have taken the time to review. I really do appreciate it so much. Feedback for this chapter would be just as welcome, please!**

**I'm about to go away for a few days, so will reply to any reviews on my return. After which, I'll get down to reading and reviewing everyone else's fics and seeing what the ending (sob!) of Series 3 does to my muse. I also have a few flashback and AU stories on the stocks.**

**Serious fluff warning ahead. I think those of us who have just seen episode 6 need it. **

A couple of days later, following exhaustive enquiries among his contacts in the shadier end of the second-hand furnishing trade, Gene at last received a call for which he had been hoping for several weeks.

"Mr Hunt? Harold Lang here. Got both those items you wanted. Shall I deliver them to your address?"

"Don't you dare. They're a surprise for a lady. I'll come over to your den at lunchtime."

Alex was not unduly surprised to see him sweep out of the office at lunchtime without telling her where he was going, only barking to Shaz that he could be contacted by radio if he was needed. She had been doing a lot of that herself, lately. If either was to keep any surprises from the other until Christmas Day, it was essential that they did their present shopping separately.

The Quattro tore across Southwark Bridge and screamed through the streets of South London before halting outside a dingy warehouse in a side street off the Walworth Road. The sign over the door proclaimed _H. Lang, Second-Hand Furniture, House Clearances a Speciality_.

He knocked at the door. "Open up! Police!"

The door creaked open. The man who looked out was as wide as he was long, with false teeth and the wiggiest wig in London.

"Oh, it's you, Mr Hunt, sir. Come on in. I've got your items ready for you."

The atmosphere inside the warehouse was chill and musty, and it was illuminated only by the occasional dirty skylight. All Gene could see was acre upon acre of unloved mahogany and rosewood, with the kind of upholstery that gave strong men bruises and rogue springs lying in wait to skewer the unwary.

"So, 'ow's the furniture trade treating you, then, Squashy?"

"Not too badly, Mr Hunt, sir, not too badly at all." Squashy, whose nickname derived from the fact that he resembled one of his own cushions, trotted ahead of Gene, leading him through the warehouse.

"Glad to 'ear it. 'Cos it looks as though your stock's just the same as the last time I was here."

"Ah, you know how it is. People always want to get rid of the same sort of stuff. Nobody loves proper furniture now, it's all flatpacks from MFI. Look at that, now." He pointed to a gloomy wardrobe. "I could sell you that at half the price you'd pay for a pile of pieces of Formica and chipboard, but the undiscerning customer goes for the flatpack every time. Think how much you could get inside that."

"Looks like that bastard would take me to Narnia if I stepped inside it," Gene said sourly. "Business, Squash. Where's the items you promised me?"

"Over here, Mr Hunt, sir, with the reserved goods." He led Gene over to another area of the warehouse, which was better lit and contained furniture of considerably higher quality. Gene didn't know much about antiques, but he was pretty sure that some of the stuff here was seriously valuable.

"Here we are." Squashy picked up a white cardboard box, about eighteen inches square, from a handsome walnut sideboard with a deep French polish glow. "Care to inspect them, Inspector?"

"Cheeky bastard," Gene growled. He took the lid off the box, and his eyes gleamed as he saw the contents.

"Set of forty vintage glass Christmas baubles, all different. Perfect condition. Got 'em off an old lady who found 'em in her attic. Can't have been used in donkey's years."

Gene replaced the lid. "Price?"

"Normally I'd say fifteen quid, but I'll make it a tenner for you, Mr Hunt. Could be worth a lot more on the open market, to a collector of vintage Christmas memorabilia."

"You mean, worth more to the bloke you pay to bid up your lots at auctions, you cheeky bugger. Yes, I'll take 'em."

"Then they're yours. Must say I was surprised to find you asking for something like this. Wouldn't have thought it was your scene at all."

"These are for a kid whose tenth Christmas was ruined when 'is Dad smashed the Christmas tree an' beat up 'is Mam."

"Ah, that's a kind thought. Always knew you had a charitable streak, Mr Hunt, sir."

"Stow it. What about the fire guard?"

"Right here. This one's not an antique, about twenty years old I'd say. Made for a fireplace forty inches wide. Three hinged pieces, folds into a solid shape and clips here."

"Yeah, even I can see that. It ain't rocket science. Price?"

"A fiver."

"Sold."

"Thanks. Care to come over to the desk?"

Gene looked about him. "You know, Squash, if I didn't know you'd gone straight, I'd wonder about where you got some of this posh stuff."

Squashy looked reproachful. "Now, Mr Hunt, sir, you know I'm strictly legal now. All these things came from house clearances. Everything receipted, with a proper audit trail."

"Yeah, but 'ow were the 'ouses cleared?" Gene muttered as he followed Squashy back into the darker part of the warehouse. Squashy reached the desk, switched on a table lamp, produced a blank book and carbon paper, and started to write out a receipt.

While Gene waited, his eye was caught by the glass case on the desk, on which Squashy was resting the book. It contained a number of small items, mostly porcelain and a few pieces of tawdry jewellery. At the centre of the display stood a small dark blue velvet box containing an enchantingly beautiful diamond ring. He had never seen anything like it before. A large diamond, flanked by two smaller ones, gleamed in the lamplight. But what made it unique was the setting. A small, pale gold hand cradled the diamonds from beneath, and another reached over to enclose them from above. Just as she held his heart between her two hands.

He forgot his previous misgivings. All he knew was that Alex had to have that ring.

"Care to sign your receipt here, Mr Hunt, sir?"

He had totally forgotten Squashy's presence. "In a moment. That. Let's 'ave a look."

"Which?" Squashy peered into the cabinet.

"That ring, there, in the middle."

Squashy looked terrified. "That wasn't stolen, I promise, perfectly legitimate sale - "

"I believe you, millions wouldn't. Let's see it."

Squashy reached into the cabinet and withdrew it with a trembling hand. "There you are, Mr Hunt, sir. A very fine piece, that. Got it in a recent clearance. White gold and diamonds."

Gene removed his gloves, took the ring from the box, and fished a piece of paper from his wallet. Shortly after his talk with Fraser, he had found one of Alex's plastic rings on her bedside table, and had traced its size onto a piece of paper which he always kept with him, just in case. He carefully placed the ring over the tracing. They were a perfect match.

"Price?" he barked, replacing the ring in its box.

"S-s-seven hundred and fifty pounds. It's a very fine antique, you wouldn't find it any cheaper - " Squashy caught Gene's eye. "But for you, Mr Hunt, sir, five hundred, and I'll throw in the other two items for nothing."

Gene chose to ignore the whimpering sounds issuing from his wallet. _Yes, it's a lot of cash, and it might not even be worth it. But I'm not like Chris. I've got the money. Time to spend some on the woman I love._

He patted Squashy's shoulder comfortingly. "Good man. You've made a sale."

Squashy relaxed. "I'll make out another receipt."

"You'll 'ave to keep it for me. Haven't got the cash on me."

Squashy smiled. "No worries. I can take a cheque. I know I can trust you not to let it bounce, Mr Hunt, sir, and if the bank gives me any trouble, I know where you work."

Gene scribbled the cheque and signed Squashy's receipt. "You won't need that. 'Ere you are."

"And here _you_ are, Mr Hunt, sir." Squashy handed over the ring, and Gene pocketed it. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

"Ta." He picked up the fire guard and box of decorations. "'Bye, Squashy. Keep on the straight an' narrow."

"Always, Mr Hunt, sir. Always."

-oO0Oo-

When he was back in his office, Gene closed the door and phoned John Fraser.

"John? Gene Hunt 'ere. I need something engraved. Could you recommend a jeweller?"

"Bring it in to me."

"But it's gold, not silver."

"If it's only engraving, that doesn't matter. I'll be glad to help."

"Ta. See you tomorrow."

-oO0Oo-

Fraser was open in his admiration of the ring. "A magnificent piece. I've never seen anything like it before. _Art Nouveau. _French, I should think. English hallmarks, but they may have been applied after it was imported. Where on earth did you find it?"

"Lucky chance. One of my old contacts."

"So, what would you like me to engrave?"

"Just one word, inside the hoop. _Unbreakable_."

-oO0Oo-

It was inevitable that, having bought the ring, Gene should find his misgivings returning during the run-up to Christmas. His first thought had been to present it to her on Christmas Day, but if she refused, it would be very difficult to for her remain in the house with him. If she wanted to leave, there would be no public transport, and he would have to drive her across London to the flat. There was no need to risk spoiling their first Christmas together. _Maybe I'll give it to her on our birthdays. The first anniversary of our getting together. If the time looks right. Maybe I won't. I'll wait and see. Things have been going well since she moved in. Don't want to spoil anything._

On the Saturday before Christmas, he got a snout who ran a greengrocer's shop to sell him a fifteen-foot Christmas tree at a bargain price, and he invented a whole new range of swear words while manhandling it into the house and getting it to stand upright in the living room. Alex didn't help, rolling up with laughter on the sofa while he did battle with the prickly bastard, but once it was in place she was in her element decorating it with tiny fairy lights, tinsel and the glass baubles, topped with a gleaming star, while he festooned the living room with his paper chains, hung a holly wreath on the front door, wedged holly sprigs above picture frames, suspended a large bunch of mistletoe from the ceiling, and set out their Christmas cards on the sideboard alongside his bronze lion, a small Nativity crib and a set of angel chimes.

When they had finished, Alex stood in front of the tree, surveying her handiwork while she picked pine needles from her hair and her woolly jumper. Gene joined her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Done a good job, sweetheart."

She had twined the fairy lights around the tree and swirled strings of silver tinsel in a series of spirals from top to bottom, placing them so that they shimmered in the multicoloured lights. Gene's decorations hung at strategic points, making the whole tree look like an old-fashioned toyshop.

"Thanks. Those glass baubles are beautiful. Where on earth did you find them? Were they in the attic when you arrived?"

"Nah. Squashy Lang tipped me off that 'e 'ad 'em. Mam used to 'ave some like this. Dad wrecked 'em on Christmas Day when I was ten. Pissed as usual. Smashed up the tree an' then smashed up Mam."

She nuzzled his shoulder. "When I was ten, my parents had been dead two years. I'd been miserable the Christmas after it happened, so the following year, my guardian threw a party on Christmas Day for myself and thirty kids of my age from the local childrens' home. We had a great time, dinner, conjurors, a disco, but my guardian must have been the worst Father Christmas in recorded history. He was much too thin and his false beard fell off. I made a good friend that day. Her name was Charlotte. We stayed in touch all the time I was at university, and she was one of my bridesmaids."

Gene's mind began to spin. _She's described Alex Price's Christmas party last year. Just as Nelson showed it to me. _He glanced at her sharply, and saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

"What's up?"

She gazed up at the tree. "I was just thinking how Molly would love this. Would have loved this." _I have to keep remembering that he thinks she's dead. _ "How she'd have loved _you._"

"Sorry, Bols." He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Sorry. It's still hard, sometimes."

"Don't worry, love. I know."

-oO0Oo-

He made love to her that night with an aching tenderness, striving to let her know, without words, how much she was beloved, desired, needed, cherished, trusted. He held her while she slept, his own mind far too full to give in to the pull of sleep. Alex's few innocent words had sent his world spiralling crazily out of joint.

_She's just described little Alex Price's party as though it had been her own. But she wasn't even there, she has no way of knowing about it. Unless White or little Alex told her, but why should she say that it was her party? Unless it was…_

_Nelson told me that I'll see little Alex again, that I'll be there for her, but that the day may come when I fail her just as she needs me most. Did he say that because he knows about the future? He said that he's a spirit guide. And God knows I failed Bolly when she needed me, over Operation Rose._

_She said she came from the future. Just like Sam. That she was shot, and she woke up here, with me. That she was fighting not to die, because if she died, she would never get home_.

_It's impossible, but - _

_Sam pioneered techniques at GMP that had never been used anywhere in this country before. Forensics, fingertip searches, recording interviews, concealing witnesses at identity parades. When he died, Rathbone said he was years ahead of his time. But Sam was shocked that we didn't do them. Now a lot of them are standard practice, and it's not just because of him._

_Sam knew that Red Rum would win the National. He always knew which team would win the Cup Final. Always knew which new bands would make it big. He knew that Vincent's car bomb wasn't planted by the IRA. He nailed Crane by claiming to be a time traveller from thirty years in the future._

_Bolly knew that the Rose blag would be in King Douglas Lane. She says she knows what's going to happen to the property market. She knew that Layton was Markham's kingpin. She's just like Sam, keeps coming out with this stuff about the future that nobody understands._

_She knew that Tim and Caroline Price would be killed by a car bomb and that Layton was involved. She told me that her parents were lawyers who died in a car crash when she was eight. Swap the bomb for the crash, and you've got little Alex. Again. That would be why she made friends with Caroline and White. Her mother and her guardian._

_A couple of weeks ago, she told me that she and Sam had had a shared delusion about the future. But did she tell me something she knew I'd understand, because she was afraid of losing me again if she told me the truth? _

_Of course it's all impossible. But think what happened to me last Christmas Eve. I saw Mac, Sam, Nelson, Summers. Sam showed me things that had happened, and I recognised them all. Nelson showed me Chris's flat, before I'd been there to know what it was like. He showed me little Alex's party, and Bolly knows about it. Summers predicted that Kingston would try to kill me. All things I can never tell her, because she wouldn't believe me._

_None of it should have been possible, but I know it happened._

_So… did Sam and Bolly come from the future? Is that as "possible" as what I saw on Christmas Eve? Was Bolly Alex Price? Was the child I rescued from the blast, the woman I love? Little Alex is eleven, Bolly's thirty-eight. If they're the same, that would means she'd come from - what, 2008? 2009?_

_Bloody Hell, have I fallen in love with a female Doctor Who?_

His head was spinning again with the very thought of it. But as he looked down at the woman sleeping peacefully in his arms, he knew that, whether it was true or not, it could not change what he felt for her. Wherever she had come from, and however she had come from there, she had made it clear that this place and time were her home now. That _he_ was her home. He would accept what she had told him and ask no further questions. If, at some time in the future, she felt able to tell him more, he would accept that too. His trust in her was absolute.

_She came to me alone, frightened, maybe from another time, another life. She's said that I'm all she has. She needs stability. I can give her that by asking her to marry me. Maybe I'll give her the ring at Christmas after all. Maybe._

-oO0Oo-

Christmas Eve in CID was a hilarious day-long party, laced with brandy, mince pies, and sausage rolls. Fortunately no major crimes occurred that day, as nobody was in a fit state to deal with them. At 4.30, everyone decamped to Luigi's. Gene and Alex were the last to leave. When she went into his office to collect him, she found him leaving a bottle of single malt and a glass on his desk.

"Aren't you afraid that the cleaners might steal that?"

"Wouldn't dare."

"Any special reason why you're leaving it out?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Just a bit of a ritual I've got on Christmas Eve."

Alex laughed. "Good grief, most people leave sherry and mince pies out for Santa. Trust you to be different."

"The Gene Genie is _always_ different. Come along, Bols. Luigi's awaits."

The Christmas party at Luigi's was a riot. Only "party pooper" Keats was conspicuous by his absence. Luigi served everyone a choice of _tagliatelle con tacchino_ or turkey and stuffing pizza, with _Panforte di Siena_, pudding, or ice cream to follow, with mince pies and coffee. The house rubbish flowed like water. When everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the chairs and tables were pushed back and everyone crowded onto the dance floor. Gene and Alex were in the centre of the throng, twirling joyously to the music, oblivious to the way the others watched them.

The party started breaking up earlier than usual because Chris and Shaz, the latter newly promoted to DC, had to get home. "Mum's babysitting Tammy, but she wants to leave by ten," Shaz explained to Alex. "She and Dad are coming to us for Christmas dinner tomorrow."

Alex laughed. "With Tammy as well, you'll have your hands full."

"Remember to wish WPC Tammy Skelton a merry Christmas from 'er Auntie Alex an' Uncle Gene," Gene added.

Chris beamed. "We'll do that, Guv. And a merry Christmas to both of you!"

Gene and Alex departed with everyone else at closing time, with a bottle of Bollinger, a large boxed Panettone, and a cloud of Christmas wishes from Luigi and their colleagues. Just about the only disadvantage to their living in his house - _their_ house - as opposed to the flat, was that he had to stay sober enough to drive the Quattro home. But when he stopped the car outside the house, seeing the holly wreath on the door and the tree lights gleaming softly in the darkness, even that sacrifice seemed worthwhile.

"We're 'ome," he said gruffly, unlocking the door. It meant so much to be able to say that.

He had wondered whether he would dream of Sam and the others that night, as he had last Christmas Eve. But as soon as they got to bed, Alex claimed him as an advance Christmas present, again and again, until they both sank into a deep and dreamless sleep. When they awakened in the morning, they wished each other a merry Christmas in their own way, and would have quite happily stayed where they were all day, if Alex had not reminded him that they had Christmas dinner to cook. Their shower together took longer than it should have done, but eventually she made her escape, dressed in her tracksuit top and leggings, added the charm bracelet, and headed for the kitchen. He donned his navy rugby shirt and jeans, and hesitated before following her. The ring box was hidden in a secret corner in his chest of drawers, wrapped in a fragment of colourful wrapping paper. Once again, he was undecided whether to give it to her now, or keep it for another occasion. He found it by feel and put it in his pocket. Just in case.

He stopped off in the living room to switch on the tree lights and prepare her first surprise of the day, before heading for the kitchen and a minimal breakfast. To his disgust, Alex refused to cook anything.

"You'll have enough food for a brigade when dinner's ready, and I've enough to do for that without your fryup as well," she said with mock severity. "It won't hurt you to go short for once. We need all the space we can get on the worktop, to prepare dinner."

"_We?_"

She looked outrageously innocent. "Well, you helped Chris and I with the dinner at his flat last year, and you have _such_ a good way with a vegetable knife. I'll never forget the sight of you peeling sprouts and humming Christmas carols."

Gene fully intended to help, but his masculine pride demanded that he put up a fight. "Bloody 'ell, you're only cookin' for the two of us, not for the whole of CID. An' 'ow the 'ell am I meant to keep my strength up for peelin' spuds an' sprouts if all I've got inside me is a bowl of bloody cornflakes?"

"Oh, all right, I'll do you some toast. With marmalade. But the quicker we start, the sooner we'll be finished."

Gene suddenly wondered if marriage was such a good idea. "If I'm to spend my Christmas as your drudge an' kitchen boy instead of watching James Bond, you'll 'ave to make it up to me later."

She gave him her sultriest sidelong look. "Oh, I _fully_ intend to. And the James Bond film doesn't start until 4.00, you fraud. We should be finished long before then."

"Right. Get your pinny on, you're nicked. But before you start loading me up with murderous kitchen implements, come into the living room. There's something waiting for you there."

"But we aren't opening our presents until after dinner."

"I know. This is an advance present." She raised her eyebrows. "An' it doesn't involve takin' your clothes off, you filthy-minded tart."

He led her, protesting, into the living room. It was bright and warm, and a fire blazed merrily in the grate. She gave a cry of delight.

"Gene! You've lit the fire! Oh, it's wonderful!"

He grinned. "Promised it for special occasions, didn't I? Thought our first Christmas together was the right occasion to launch it. I bought some sacks of coal an' bags of kindling, an' hid 'em in the shed until this morning. The coal scuttle, poker, shovel an' tongs were all in the attic. Got the chimney swept two Saturdays ago, when you were out Christmas shopping with Shaz. Had more birds' nests in it than a Chinky soup restaurant. I 'ad to pay the sweep extra to finish the job." He looked reflective. "Haven't laid a fire in years. Often used to do it for Mam. Didn't know if I'd remember how, until I did it again this morning."

She hugged him. "You haven't lost your touch. Oh, Gene, it's lovely. It makes the place feel so homely."

"'Fraid the fire guard spoils the effect, but if a spark hits the tree we'll 'ave to share our Christmas dinner with the fire brigade."

"Of course. Oh, thank you so much for this. Such a kind, thoughtful thing to do. Just like the woollens you gave me for my birthday." It was her turn to look reflective. "When I was a child, my home had an open fire, like this. It brings it all back to me."

"In a good way, I 'ope?"

She looked into the flames. For a fleeting moment, she thought she could see Molly on the far side, about to blow out her candles. Then the image was gone.

_Is it Christmas where you are, Mols? If it is, I hope you have a happy Christmas, even though I'm not there._

"Yes. Definitely in a good way."

Despite Gene's growlings, with the two of them working as a team, the dinner did not take long to prepare. Alex had already stuffed the turkey crown with her own special mixture of sausage meat, apricots, mushrooms, chestnuts and breadcrumbs, and she had made the pudding the week before. That had given her a sharp pang, remembering Molly stirring the mixture for luck. She had put the oven on as soon as she got downstairs, so the turkey went in as soon as they had finished breakfast, and the pudding went into the saucepan an hour later. She had made the cranberry sauce in advance as well, so their morning's work consisted of the potatoes and vegetables, the smoked salmon for starters, and what she called "the little fiddly bits", the bacon curls, miniature chipolatas, gravy, and apricots for frying. Smelling the appetising aromas issuing from the oven, Gene thought that marriage might be quite a good idea after all.

"Good work, gettin' so much done ahead of schedule," he acknowledged, pricking sausages.

"Oh, Delia's emphatic on the need for advance preparation for Christmas dinner," she replied absently, striving to keep a piece of bacon curled.

"Eh? Who's she?"

"Oh, er, a cook I happen to know."

"Bloody 'ell, if this is a sample of 'er stuff, we'd better invite 'er round to dinner one day."

"That could be difficult."

_Because she's in the future?_ Gene thought. Momentarily distracted, he stuck the fork in his thumb instead of a sausage, and the air turned blue.

-oO0Oo-

Apart from one minor mishap, dinner had been a triumph. They leaned back in the dining chairs, both replete.

Gene undid his top shirt button. "Well, if this is a sample of your wares, Bolly, perhaps we'd better see if there's a vacancy in the Fenchurch East canteen."

She looked mischievous. "What, for a DCI turned spud peeler?"

"For a DI turned head cook, you cheeky mare."

"Sexist bastard." Her eyes glowed with love as she said it. "I'm glad you enjoyed everything."

"Yeah. You excelled yourself, love."

"Sorry the bacon curls unrolled."

He scraped a stray bit of brandy butter from his dish. "Tasted good just as they were. Next year we'll go for pigs in blankets instead. Very suitable for cohabiting coppers."

"Pigs - oh, sausages wrapped in bacon."

"S'right."

"Just so long as you're prepared for more of the same tomorrow. There's still enough turkey, stuffing and pudding for a siege."

"Bring it on. We'll send anything we don't want to CID." He pushed a plate across the table to her. "Mince pie?"

"Spare me."

"Yeah, they can wait." He reached across the table for her hand. "Come on. There's a pressie or two waiting for you under the tree."

The fire in the living room was still burning brightly - Gene had gone into the room at intervals to replenish it - and the flames, and the lights from the tree, cast atmospheric shadows. He did not turn the light switch on. It looked cosier that way.

Buying the ring had obliged him to reconsider his original plans for Alex's presents, so the porcelain figurine was still in the antique shop in Shepherd's Market, but he had had a word with the owner, who had promised to keep it for him and let him pay for it in January. It would do nicely for her birthday. But he had bought her the silk scarf from Selfridges, the lacy underwear, the perfume, a book about Freud which he knew she wanted, and a pair of gorgeous black shoes with killer high heels. She loved them all, but to his surprise, the biggest hit was the topaz pendant.

"Oh, Gene, it's perfect! It's _you._"

"Eh?" He thought that she really had cashed in her mental chips at last. He could not imagine any possible connection between himself and the delicate piece of jewellery in her hand.

"It's exactly the colour of your eyes. Silver and blue. Oh, my love, I'll always wear this, and when I look at it I'll know I have you with me, wherever I am."

"Oh. Glad you like it."

"Thank you so much." She kissed him. "You couldn't have got me anything that would please me more. Will you help me put it on?"

_Well_, he thought, fastening the slender chain at the nape of her neck and planting a kiss there. _I owe Fraser a drink. Several. _

_Maybe the pendant is all she needs just now, to show that we're together. I'll keep the ring. Perhaps give it to her on her birthday instead. _

Alex's presents for him left him almost breathless. The enamelled City cuff links were great. So were the black leather driving gloves and the tailored black shirt. But the one which made him gasp was the heavy wooden box.

"I don't know much about single malts, being a Bollinger girl myself," she admitted. "So when I went to the shop and said that I didn't know which my boyfriend likes best, the nice man on the counter suggested I give you the lot. This box contains fifteen single malt miniatures. You can try them all and tell me which you like best, and I can get you your favourites next time."

"Bloody 'ell," he breathed, delving into the box. "Glenmorangie - Glenfiddich - Aberlour - Mortlach - Macallan - Glenlivet - Dalmore - Tobermory - Aberfeldy - Glencadam - Inchmurrin - Talisker - you've rounded up an' arrested the lot! An' what's this?" He extracted a shape wrapped in tissue paper.

"Open it and see."

He put the box down reverently and peeled the tissue away. It was a pewter hip flask engraved with his name.

"I thought that when you decide which you like best, you could put some in there, and keep it in your breast pocket. Just in case some bastard tries to shoot you again. You told me on our birthdays, what happened at the _Gazette_ siege."

"Yeah." His voice was husky. "But anyone who tries to shoot a hole in my girl's present'll 'ave their knackers 'ung up for target practice." He pulled her close. "Thanks, Bols. Don't know what to say. I'll 'ave to quote you. You couldn't have got me anything that would please me more."

"Oh, that's a pity. I've still got one more present to give you." With a flourish, she produced a small, flat parcel. He tore the paper away and found a photo frame. The face staring back at him was instantly familiar. So was the signature. It was an autographed photograph of Gary Cooper in _High Noon_.

_Wayne for the machismo. Stewart for the warmth. Cooper for the romance. Eastwood for the mystery._

_Above all?_

_Gary Cooper.  
_

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then forced himself to push the memory away. He opened them, and saw Alex looking at him anxiously.

"Do you like it?"

"I'm bloody overwhelmed. But where - ?"

"The same specialist shop where I got the book for your birthday. I know Cooper's your favourite, so I got the shop man to let me know if he got anything like this in the course of the year. This only came in a fortnight ago."

"You, Bols, 'ave managed to do something that neither cop nor criminal 'as ever achieved before. You've rendered Gene Hunt speechless. Twice."

She smiled. "My Will Kane. One against the world, doing what he knows is right."

He hung his head. "Wasn't always like that."

She kissed him. "That's where you're wrong. I know from Sam. You've always done what you saw as right for the people you were protecting. It's only how you've done it that has changed."

-oO0Oo-

An hour later, they were sitting on the sofa, wrapped tightly in one anothers' arms, her head resting on his chest, as they gazed into the firelight. She had switched the TV on for the James Bond film, but neither of them paid it any attention, and after a quarter of an hour he turned it off. One another, and the silence and peace that surrounded them, were all they needed.

Gene had taken the precaution of moving the glass coffee table out of the way, in case it was damaged by the heat from the fire, leaving an expanse of fire-warmed rug in front of them. His lips curved in a smile at the thought of them lying naked on the rug, the fire glowing on their bare bodies. Some serious shagging on the shagpile might be in order, later on.

_I've done it. All of it. Tammy's alive. I'm alive. My house isn't for sale. Bolly's here, with me. Do you hear that, Summers? I've done it all. _

_What would have happened if he hadn't warned me last Christmas? Bolly and I wouldn't have got together. Tammy would have died because Chris and Shaz wouldn't have known about cot death. And Kingston would have killed me because I'd have gone to Cringle Street alone. _

_But if I hadn't been such a bastard last Christmas, I wouldn't have had Summers's warnings about what would happen this year if I didn't change, and then Tammy and I might both have died. So maybe being a miserable sod can pay off. Sometimes. _

_Better not make a habit of it, though. Not now I have a bird to keep happy._

Alex stirred. "Penny for them."

"Eh?" Gene said absently.

"Just wondered what you were thinking about, so deeply."

"Just thinking 'ow different this Christmas would 'ave been, if I 'adn't changed my mind last Christmas."

She disengaged herself and sat up, looking straight at him. "Why _did_ you change? You never would tell me. On Christmas Eve you were a right bloody Scrooge, and on Christmas Day you were full of the joys of the season. You'd become the man I love once again. What happened, Gene?"

_Shit. What the hell do I say now?_ He took a breath to answer, and a malfunction occurred somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Afterwards, he was never sure how he had intended to reply, but to his horror he heard himself saying, "Got you another Christmas present."

"Oh?"

_Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why did I have to say that? I'll have to go through with this now, or I'll never hear the last of it. _Diffidently, he reached into his pocket, produced the small gift wrapped parcel, and held it out to her. She took it, and at the sight of her tearing off the wrapping paper, total panic set in. He reached out to take it back, and she playfully pulled it out of his reach.

"Stupid idea, you won't want it, forget it…"

His heart sank. _I've got this all wrong. Should have gone down on one knee and asked her properly. She'll never have me now._

She opened the box. The stones sparkled in the light from the fire and the tree, but they seemed like paste beside the sparkle of her eyes.

"Er, well, now you've found it, er, will you - "

"Yes, Gene! Yes, yes, YES!" She tore the ring from the box and placed it upon her finger.

He was nonplussed. "Er - you mean you like it? That you'll - ?"

"YES!" She threw the box aside, grabbed the astonished Gene in a passionate kiss, and pushed him back on the sofa before he could resist, straddling him and growling like a lioness. He didn't stand a chance.

-oO0Oo-

Half an hour later, he lay naked on the sofa, with Alex lying on top of him, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He thought that she was asleep, but as he stroked her hair and her bare back, she stirred and mumbled, "You still haven't told me."

"Eh? Told you what?"

"Why you changed your mind about Christmas."

"Er - "

She reared up above him, magnificent, naked except for her pendant, bracelet and ring. "You don't think that you're going to get out of it, just because you gave me an engagement ring, do you? This is an _interrogation_, DCI Hunt."

"Bols, I - "

She placed her palms upon his chest. "Out with it. Or punitive measures will have to be applied."

He looked hopeful. "Really? I could do with some of that."

"_Answer_. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, or God help you, Hunt."

_Oh, well, nothing for it._ He settled comfortably beneath her. "Well, Bols, last Christmas Eve I was getting pissed in my office after everyone else 'ad gone 'ome, an' I was visited by a ghost who told me I was goin' to meet three spirits, who - Oy! Bols! Stop it! You _know_ I'm ticklish!" He writhed beneath her in agony.

"You bastard!" She tickled him unmercifully. "I promise to make an honest man of you, and you try to fob me off with a story Dickens wrote in 1843! You can't even be original!"

"But, Bols - it was the tru - careful, you daft tart, or you'll 'ave us off the sofaaaaargh…"

Too late.

-oO0Oo-

Later still, Gene lay on the rug, feeling the warmth of the fire playing over all the areas of his skin which weren't already covered by Alex. Her soft snores told him that she _was_ asleep, this time. Careful not to disturb her, he cautiously reached up for the blue blanket lying on the arm of the sofa, and spread it over them both. It was the one they had brought with them from the flat above Luigi's. The one he had spread over while she slept on the striped sofa, the second night after her arrival, three and a half years ago. Who would have thought then, that he would be lying here like this, holding her in his arms, her body warming his, his body cradled tenderly within hers? She had agreed to marry him. His promised bride. Alex Hunt. He had not thought that he would ever be allowed to be so happy. _Maybe it's allowed, because I'm making her happy too. Because I'm giving her a home and a place in this world._

_She didn't believe me when I told her the truth about last Christmas, just as I hadn't believed her when she told me the truth about coming from the future. Or what she saw as the truth. Fair enough._

_Are you there, Mac? Sam? Nelson? Summers? I owe it all to you four. You saved Tammy, you saved me from getting shot, and you saved me from being a lonely, miserable bastard. Now I've got everything I could ever want, thanks to you. I've got the woman I love. _

As though from a long way away, he thought he heard four voices he had known, raised in a toast, followed by the clinking of glasses. He felt the pull of approaching sleep, and surrendered to it.

_Thanks for everything, boys. A merry Christmas, wherever you are. And as that Dickens bloke said, God bless us, every one._

**THE END**


End file.
